Façade
by Malfoi
Summary: Alternate Universe. Pride and Prejudice meets Harry Potter. Harry and Draco develop a relationship in Jane Austen inspired Regency England. Slash.
1. Hornpipe

_Title:_ Façade 
_Author:_ Malfoi ( shindemo_ii@yahoo.com ) 
_Category:_ Romance/Humor/AU 
_Keywords:_ Slash, Harry, Draco, Jane Austen, Alternate Universe 
_Rating:_ R 
_Spoilers:_ Books 1-4 
_Disclaimer_: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. 
In other words, the characters aren't mine... but the situations I put them in sure are. 
_Author's Notes_: Slash AU inspired by Jane Austen. JKR's favorite author is Jane Austen, so the setting seemed fitting. I want to thank my imouto ( ff.net - Obscurus ) for beta-ing and giving me the support and confidence to post this! *huggles imouto* Also, the title Façade and the subsequent chapter titles are inspired by Edith Sitwell and William Walton's comic piece. Feedback is welcome, flames will be used to roast marshmallows. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Façade

Chapter One

Hornpipe

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

"Harry!" A voice called him from the front porch. Harry glanced up from the lake and stood, dusting off his slacks as he turned to face his Godfather. "Coming, Sirius!" At twenty-two, Harry was fresh out of university. He tried to smooth his unruly hair, his fingers brushing lightly across the lightning bolt shaped scar that marred his forehead, the result of the accident as a child that had taken both his parents lives.  
  
For most of his life Harry had lived with his mother's relations, the Dursleys. They had treated Harry as an abomination and a burden, treating him no better than the servants in the household and hiding from Harry the knowledge that he was, in fact, an heir to a quite considerable fortune. A fortune that Harry had collected when he turned 18 and had been 'rescued,' so to speak, by his Godfather, Sirius Black, recently returned from abroad.   
  
Harry lived with Sirius and his Godfather's longtime friend Remus Lupin. In the past four years the two had been inseperable, and Harry suspected the attatchment went much further back than that. He entered the front of the mansion, settled comfortably in the countryside of Godric's Hollow, which took its name from that great estate.   
  
His Godfather greeted him with an embrace and handed him the letter, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. Remus looked up serenely from the couch where he sat reading and smiled once as Harry opened the letter.  
  
"It's from Ron" He grinned, scanning the contents quickly. "He hopes I'm having a good holiday and invites me to spend the summer months with his family at the Burrow." A slim dark brow arched. "And he wishes to acquaint me 'most passionately' to a Miss Hermione Granger of Lambton." Harry laughed before continuing, his brow furrowing at what he read next.. "He states that his family is going to be spending the fortnight at Dumbledore's estate, but that Dumbledore has extended the invitation to myself in the hopes that I might attend the ball he's holding on Friday, next." Eager green eyes looked up to meet his Godfather's and he smiled. "I am allowed to attend, I hope? You won't miss me too dreadfully?"   
  
Sirius laughed, exchanging a look with Remus. "Of course I'll miss you! We both will, won't we Remus?"   
  
The grey haired man smiled pleasantly. "Of course, Harry. We shall miss you. But we would not dream of keeping you from such an exciting event."   
  
Harry grinned, thanking them both before hurrying upstairs to pack for the journey from Godric's Hollow to Hogwarts, an easy distance indeed on 50 miles of good road. 

  
~_~_~

  
  
The carriage pulled up in front of the rather forboding but still picturesque estate of Hogwarts. Harry stepped out, brushing the dust from traveling from his dark green coat that brought out the brilliance of his green eyes.   
  
He leaned back, slipping the brown top hat onto his head and craning his neck, eyeing the mansion, windows alight. He could make out people's forms inside, dancing, talking, sitting and playing cards. He tugged at the waistband of his coat lightly before walking to the entrance.   
  
Once inside, the ball atmosphere was contagious.   
  
"Potter! I say, Potter!" a cheerful voice bellowed from within. Harry turned and grinned, seeing his longtime friend Ron Weasley coming towards him, a lovely girl on his arm that Harry recalled by the name of Miss Granger. She smiled, her eyes sparkling with wit as she embraced him.  
  
Ron was blushing almost red enough to match his hair, threatening to overpower his maroon coat that was just barely starting to show signs of wear around the cuffs. Harry noticed his gloved hand closed tightly around Miss Granger's and he smiled knowingly before Ron even opened his mouth.   
  
"I believe congratulations are in order?" He asked, a smile curving his lips.   
  
Ron's enthusiastic grin confirmed that his suspicions were correct. Harry bowed and kissed Miss Granger's hand as Ron introduced them. "Hermione, I want you to meet Harry Potter. My best mate these ten years at least."   
  
Hermione curtsied politely and smiled. "I'm honored to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley has told me so much about you." Her hair was arranged attractively in curls that framed her face and piled elegantly on her head.   
  
The trio walked together towards the ballroom itself, Harry and Ron chatting about past adventures in school and Hermione laughing cheerfully at their stories.  
  
"Why, Mr. Potter. Here I thought that Ron was the wild one of the pair of you! Now I see all his mischief was your idea." She teased.   
  
"Pfft. You think that's mischief?" Harry grinned back, instantly at ease with Miss Granger as if he had grown up with her and Ron both. "I'm sure Ron has told you about his brothers, Fred and George, and all the trouble they've caused in the Regiment with their jokes?" Harry's eyes scanned the ballroom as the three entered, settling on an arrogant looking fellow standing opposite him, an expression of abject boredom sitting on his features.   
  
The gentleman was dressed impeccably in the latest fashion, his coat a deep royal blue that seemed almost purple. Expensive Indigo dye, he would guess, even from this distance in the candlelit ballroom. The darkness of the dye contrasted with the paleness of his hair, so blonde and fine it looked like flax. Harry's gaze continued downward to the impeccably tailored trousers and fine boots, polished to a high shine. As he drew his gaze back up he blushed to notice his study had not gone unnoticed. The young man arched a fine brow, blue locked with green across the crowded dance. Harry was intrigued by the arrogance contained in that look, feeling himself drawn under its power. The gaze was broken only as the trio was interrupted by Ron's younger sister, Ginny. He smiled fondly at her and complimented her gown, noting the blush that stained her features as she smiled back shyly.   
  
Ginny was the only girl in the Weasley clan, and as such, she and Harry had been intended for each other nearly since her birth. Now finally at a marriageable age, both Harry's family and the Weasleys expected an announcement of engagement. Ginny was, after all, the only sister of Harry's best friend and Harry certainly had no other attachments. Yet Harry hesitated, still. Not wanting to push Ginny into a marriage with him merely because it was expected. Well, that was what he told himself. Ginny seemed to have little problem accepting their match as inevitable and had the good grace to enjoy his company exclusively.   
  
When he glanced back to where the gentleman had been he was gone. Harry frowned, but was distracted this time by his friend Ron. He barely noticed when Hermione excused herself for a moment and left Harry with Ron and Ginny. Harry asked pleasantly about their parents' health, his eyes wandering around the room as Ron pointed out various relations. He saw Ron's oldest brother Bill chatting with their host, Dumbledore, near the refreshments. He finally discerned Percy's figure in the corner, chatting with a soft spoken fellow Harry knew to be Neville Longbottom. The aforementioned twins, Fred and George, were playing a rousing game of cards across the hall in the parlor, and Mr and Mrs. Weasley were seated at a table nearby, involved in lively conversation with their son Charlie, who also happened to be Commanding Officer of the Regiment. One of the reasons that Fred and George were able to get away with as much mischief as they liked.  
  
It was at that moment Hermione reappeared, attached to the mysterious gentleman Harry had seen before. Harry had rarely seen his friend anything but friendly, but as the blonde joined their party, Ron's features hardened. His normally good humored brown eyes darkening and looking as welcoming as granite, a sentiment echoed in the eyes of the blonde. Harry noticed a small muscle twitch in the blonde's throat and was startled out of his daze by Ron's angry voice.  
  
"Hermione, darling. What is HE doing here?"   
  
Hermione arched a brow at her husband to be, startling Harry with her ability to hold her ground. "Mr. Malfoy is a longstanding friend of my family, Mr. Weasley. He was invited here at my request." She then turned to Harry and smiled. "Mr. Potter, I would be pleased to make your acquaintance to Mr. Malfoy."   
  
Harry extended his hand hesitantly after glancing at Ron, who looked fit to kill. "Harry Potter. A pleasure, sir."   
  
Draco eyed him lazily before extending his hand in return, his voice a slow drawl. "Draco Malfoy." Their palms touched only briefly before Draco pulled his hand back, as if he were afraid of contracting a disease. Harry glowered, affronted.   
  
Hermione coughed politely and introduced Draco to Ginny. Harry stiffened, feeling protective of Ginny instinctively. Draco seemed to notice this, a grin forming at the corners of his lips as he touched his lips to the back of Ginny's palm. "I would like to inquire if you are engaged for the two-next, Miss Weasley? If not I would be overjoyed for the pleasure of your company." His voice was low and seductive. Harry couldn't help but shiver at the intimate, dulcet tones.   
  
Ginny looked bewildered, her eyes glancing wildly from Harry and Ron's faces as she blushed. "I-I am not engaged, Mr. Malfoy." She took his hand hesitantly and Draco smirked at Harry and Ron before walking off towards the dance floor.  
  
Ron looked ready to spit fire, his eyes dangerously hot. Harry's feelings towards Malfoy were no less amicable and he bristled, watching the couple start to dance.  
  
Ron exploded at Hermione, who gave him a glare and an indignant "Men!" before storming off to join the Weasleys, smiling cheerfully at her future in-laws.   
  
"Who is he, Ron?" Harry asked softly, his eyes never leaving the pair. He stiffened as Draco said something apparently witty and Ginny laughed, her face an open smile.   
  
"Draco Malfoy. One of the most unpleasant men I've ever had in my acquaintance. Rude, patronizing, and too rich even for him." Ron snorted derisively. "Hermione's family is acquainted with them. They're from the same county-Lambton. But Malfoy has always made it quite clear who's family is superior to the other. He rarely associates with anyone. Insufferably proud."  
  
Draco chose that moment to face their direction, his eyes locking gazes with Harry's once more, another smile curling at the corners of his mouth, but this one almost sinister in its temper.   
  
"He's intent on Ginny, then?" Harry asked flatly, his eyes flashing angrily.  
  
Ron shook his head, confused. "He's never been acquainted with her before. But I guarantee that this is the last time she dances with the likes of him!"  
  


~_~_~

  
  
The next afternoon found Harry alone at Hogwarts. Or so he thought. The Weasleys had undertaken a visit to the Regiment and Harry had declined, begging tiredness from his long journey to Hogwarts. He was slightly fatigued, but had desired the time alone to muse on the occurrences the night before at the ball. As he wandered down the grand staircase he was hailed by his host, Dumbledore.   
Harry bowed, thanking Dumbledore for his great kindness in extending the invitation meant for the Weasleys to include himself.   
  
Dumbledore laughed pleasantly, his old gray eyes twinkling. "From what I hear, young man, you shall not long be separated from the Weasley clan, eh Mr. Potter?"   
  
Harry had colored and Dumbledore chuckled. "Perhaps you would fancy a game of billiards, Mr. Potter? I am not much for the game myself but I have a fine table in the West Drawing Room that is very comfortable for solitaire, so I'm told."  
  
Harry's eyes lit up, as billiards was one of the few games he enjoyed. He considered it nearly a sport and had spent many hours at university becoming quite skilled. He thanked his host before walking off in search of the West Drawing Room, not seeing, in his enthusiasm, the knowing smile upon Dumbledore's face.  
  
The West Drawing Room proved to be exceedingly difficult to find. Harry would swear the staircases moved on him when he wasn't looking. At last he poked his head into the correct doorway, his eyes falling on the fine table and the equally fine body that was bent over the table.   
  
Malfoy held the cue firmly in his hands, taking no notice of Potter as he entered, invading his privacy. With a calculated gaze he took his shot, finally stretching, placing on hand on the small of his back to massage the muscles there. Harry held his breath as he waited to be discovered, studying Malfoy intently from the rear. His overcoat was discarded, draped casually over an armchair and leaving him in only a simple waistcoat and blouse over another pair of fine trousers and boots.   
  
At last the blonde turned, regarding him with some astonishment as well as embarassement. Harry flushed. "E-excuse me, Malfoy. Dumbledore suggested I play a round of billiards I had no idea that I would find you here." He regained his nerve by the end of his speech, squaring his shoulders and narrowing his eyes at the man before him.   
  
Draco arched a brow, quickly recovering from the surprise. "Indeed, Potter. Dumbledore suggested to me the very same thing. And as I was here first" he trailed off suggestively and looked away, studying Potter beneath pale lashes, praying the room was dark enough to conceal the faint blush that stained his cheeks. He turned his back to the other man, attempting to concentrate once more on his game.   
  
Harry glared, presented once more with Malfoy's backside. "Solitaire isn't enjoyable anyway, Malfoy." He ventured smoothly. "Why not prove yourself the man you're reputed to be?" His fingers were balled tightly into fists as he waited, outwardly calm, for Malfoy's response.   
  
Draco turned around again, his expression once more that controlled mask of arrogance. A smirk twisted over the aristocratic features that reminded Harry of the glance across the dance floor when Malfoy had been dancing with Ginny. "I assure you, my reputation is exactly as it appears to be." The blonde replied calmly. "And what can be said for the Boy Who Talks Big?"   
  
Harry grabbed a cue from the rack at random, giving the impression he did not have much care for which cue he selected nor the game in general. Quite the opposite was actually running through Harry's mind. "Shall we discuss the stakes, Malfoy?" He said, chalking the tip of the cue casually.  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you have in mind?" His voice was clipped, indifferent.   
  
Harry set the cue aside, bending over the table to arrange the two balls opposite the cue ball. "Three lives. Every time one of us wins, they get to ask a question. Deal?" His gaze was clear and honest, meeting Malfoy's earnestly.   
  
"Done. But I get to go first."   
  
"Done."  



	2. Through Gilded Trellises

_Title:_ Façade 
_Author:_ Malfoi ( shindemo_ii@yahoo.com ) 
_Category:_ Romance/Humor/AU 
_Keywords:_ Slash, Harry, Draco, Jane Austen, Alternate Universe 
_Rating:_ R 
_Spoilers:_ Books 1-4 
_Disclaimer_: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. 
In other words, the characters aren't mine... but the situations I put them in sure are. 
_Author's Notes_: Slash AU inspired by Jane Austen. JKR's favorite author is Jane Austen, so the setting seemed fitting. I want to thank my imouto ( ff.net - Obscurus ) for beta-ing and giving me the support and confidence to post this! *huggles imouto* Also, the title Façade and the subsequent chapter titles are inspired by Edith Sitwell and William Walton's comic piece. Feedback is welcome, flames will be used to roast marshmallows. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Façade

Chapter Two

Through Gilded Trellises

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Draco circled the table, his face a mask of collected indifference. Potter wanted to ask him something rather badly, it seemed. He frowned as the object of his musings unbuttoned his coat, laying it to rest on top of his own and leaving Potter clad, as he was, in a waistcoat and shirt. Long fingers loosened the cravat, exposing the sun-warmed skin of Potter's throat to his sight. Draco swallowed, his tongue flicking over his lips as he bent over the table to take his shot. The cue ball hit the banked wall and sailed into the red ball, knocking it into the rear corner pocket.   
  
"Score one, Potter." He smirked, straightening. The pool cue rested in his hands like a walking stick. His elegant fingers stroked the smooth wood in a lightly vertical motion. "Now . . . why don't you tell me exactly how long the Weasleys can afford to keep you in their party? Knowing their resources it cannot be long. And then poor young Miss Weasley will be left without a suitor"   
  
Harry felt the anger rising. "Do not presume to talk about Miss Weasley in such a manner! You don't know her." His emerald gaze was locked on Malfoy's as he picked up his cue, getting ready for the next shot. "And the Weasleys have invited me to spend the summer months with them. I am trespassing only on their kindness, not their finances." The last was said indignantly as Harry casually bent over the table, taking his shot. The yellow ball hit the back bank and bounced off, falling neatly into the left side pocket.  
  
"My turn, Malfoy." Harry slammed the cue on the table and leaned forward, both hands palmed on the billiards table. "Now why don't _you_ tell me exactly what your intentions are towards Miss Weasley?" His voice was low, fevered to an almost dangerous pitch.  
  
Draco shrugged, setting his cue aside and retrieving the sunken billiards balls from their pockets. He rolled them idly on the table in the pretense of setting up for the next round. "Intentions towards Miss Weasley? That seems to be your department, doesn't it?"   
  
"Answer the question, Malfoy."  
  
Smug arrogance flittered across the elegant features. Proud profile, delicate pointed chin. "Are you implying that I have to have 'intentions' in order to ask a lady to dance? It was a compliment, Potter. By singling her out I paid her the highest compliment. Only _she_ was good enough to dance with a Malfoy." The blue eyes were hard now, Draco setting the balls down to retrieve his cue stick.  
  
Harry was silent, confusion settling over his features. Just when he believed he had Malfoy's personality pinned, he would do something to completely alter that perception.   
  
"Move, Potter." Draco said demandingly.   
  
Harry eyed the other man coolly before stepping away from the table, allowing a small space between himself and the table. Draco brushed past Potter, their shoulders and hips brushing against each other through their clothing. Once past, Harry exhaled, feeling the places that had touched Malfoy tingle delightedly.  
  
Draco leaned over the table, making his shot. The cue ball hit the red ball straight on, sending it whirling into the right corner pocket, then it banked off the back barrier, coming back for the yellow ball which rolled carefully into the left side pocket. Draco smirked before standing and turning.   
  
Harry was speechless. That was one of his favorite moves to use on unsuspecting billiards players-he had never had it used on himself before. His eyes were wide with surprise as Draco glowered smugly. "Next question, Potter."  
  
Setting down the cue once more, Draco walked towards him, slowly. "And what, exactly, are your intentions towards Miss Weasley?" The interest was back in those blue eyes. Draco's hair appeared to float around his face and Harry was struck with the likeness of one of DaVinci's divine characters. Malfoy's face had a timelessness. And stalking towards Harry, he looked like a young god. Or a lion. He shivered again.   
  
"M-My intentions?" Harry found it hard to speak when caught under that gaze. His right hand came up to rub the back of his neck nervously. "I, well. . . Ron's my best friend, you see. . . I met him on the way to University and we became very close. And now that he's getting married, I'm sure the Weasleys will expect me to follow suit-"   
  
"I am quite aware of Miss Granger's desire to connect herself to Mr. Weasley," Draco interrupted sharply, keeping Harry pinned with his intense gaze. "I asked _your_ intentions. You will answer, as per the rules of the game."  
  
Harry swallowed nervously. "I only wish to make the greatest amount of people happy . . . and I cannot force Gin-Miss Weasley into a match simply because it is expected. That is both cruel and unjust for her. Should she find herself in love with someone else-"  
  
"Like me, perhaps?" The eyes were clear now, boring into his own. Harry was caught.   
  
Harry blinked. "Pardon?"  
  
"Should she find herself in love, with me" Draco repeated softly.   
  
"It would never happen." Harry's hesitant voice was mismatched to the finality of his words.   
  
"Why not?" Draco moved closer to Harry, inclining his head. "I'm incredibly wealthy, incredibly witty, and devastatingly attractive. Who could not find themselves in love with me?" Malfoy's tone was almost bored, as if reciting everyday facts.   
  
Harry fidgeted, not being able to stop a small smile at the guilelessness of Malfoy's tone. "You're not her class, Malfoy. Everyone knows that. Even with Miss Granger paving the way they're not nearly connected well enough."  
  
Malfoy's eyes communicated his acceptance of that smile but flickered with some undefinable emotion. "The same could be said of you, Potter. You're connected only through friendship. Not through class."  
  
Harry sighed, troubled. "It's different."   
  
"There is no difference as far as class is concerned." Harry turned to regard Malfoy, a question in his eyes.   
  
A long moment passed between them before Draco turned his glance to the side. "Your turn, Potter. There is one round left."  
  
Harry kept his eyes downcast, not daring to meet Malfoy's now. Somewhere in that conversation things had changed. Suddenly it wasn't Ginny they were talking about, but it was. It was so confusing in his mind. He shook his head, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose lightly before putting them back on and taking up his cue.   
  
The leather head of the cue struck the ball with an audible crack, sending it quickly across the table. The ball smacked loudly into the yellow ball at an angle, sending it to the right side pocket. It hit the back barrier with a loud thud and ricocheted, hitting the red ball with just enough force and angle to make it glide smoothly into the left side pocket. It was Harry's turn to smirk, and he grinned proudly, ready to collect his prize.   
  
"Now, Draco-"  
  
"Master Potter?" An elderly voice interrupted Harry who turned, goggle-eyed, towards the doorway.   
  
"Uh, yes?" Harry inquired politely.   
  
The butler, a man by the name of Filch, was never to be seen without his cat, Mrs. Norris. The cat eyed Harry with its scrutinizing gaze as Filch spoke. "The Weasleys have returned, Mr. Potter. They wish to invite you and Mr. Malfoy to sup with them."  
  
Harry blinked. _Back now? But..._  
  
He turned to where Draco was smirking behind him. "Erm, yes. Tell them I'll be down directly." Filch nodded and left, Mrs. Norris trotting behind him.   
  
"You're not getting out of this, Malfoy." Harry said, grabbing his coat and quickly redoing his cravat. "You owe me, now. And I intend to collect. Are you coming?" He asked, hovering in the doorway.  
  
Malfoy's mouth twitched into the semblance of a smile that could have, at second glance, been a grimace. He grabbed his coat, buttoning it with dexterous fingers. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Potter.   


~_~_~

  
Harry and Draco entered the dining hall together. Dumbledore was seated at the head, and smiled broadly at the two men as they entered. "Hullo, boys! Come sit. There are places beside Mr Weasley and Miss Weasley, as you see."  
  
Draco quickly took the seat next to Miss Weasley, smiling at her pleasantly and avoiding Ron's enraged look from across the table. She returned his compliment with a smile of her own as Harry sat next to Ron.   
  
"What were you doing with him?" Ron hissed.  
  
Harry looked slightly flustered as he responded, glancing at Draco, seated across from him. "I interrupted his privacy in the billiards room, accidentally." He looked up at Dumbledore, raising his voice slightly. "At our host's suggestion I sought out the game room but found it already occupied.  
  
The old man chuckled knowingly, his eyes twinkling. "Did you two enjoy your game?" He asked.  
  
The two gentlemen in question lifted their heads, gazes meeting as Harry responded. "I won."  
  
Draco arched a brow. "You most certainly did not."  
  
Harry arched a brow in return before ignoring Malfoy's response, speaking instead to the youngest Weasley. "How was your visit, Miss Weasley?"  
  
Ginny blushed at being addressed directly. "The officers were ever so nice . . . especially one. Mr. Creevey"  
  
Draco interrupted the conversation by touching Ginny's sleeve lightly with his fingers. "Is this muslin, by any chance, Miss Weasley?"  
  
"Why yes, Mr. Malfoy. How on earth could you tell?" Ginny smiled, her features pink at being addressed and touched by such a sophisticated man.   
  
Draco smiled intimately, making sure to glance in Potter's direction. "I thought as much. I have an eye for fabrics."   
  
Mrs. Weasley laughed "You must be a great help to your mother, I suppose, Mr. Malfoy. I've had six boys and none of them could tell muslin from taffeta!"  
  
Ron blushed profusely at this, protesting. "Mother, you know that if you had wanted us to learn, we would have! But when you have Ginny . . ."  
  
"The Weasley boys could hardly be so easily domesticated." Harry said pointedly.   
  
Draco narrowed his eyes "Domestication is hardly the label I would put to an educated admiration of women's skills and arts, Potter. What say you, Miss Weasley?"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes as Ginny blinked curiously.   
  
Draco continued. "Does Miss Weasley prefer a gentleman with an appreciation for women's skills or well, to be blunt, someone with no appreciation whatsoever?"  
  
"Miss Weasley prefers to leave women's' business to women." Harry said sharply. "As you should leave men's business to men."  
  
Draco gave him a questioning look as Miss Weasley engaged her mother and Miss Granger in conversation about the quality of muslin to be found in the local stores.   
  
"Is something the matter, Harry?" Ron asked, somewhat concerned. Lowering his voice so the women would not overhear.  
  
"I don't think he likes my questions, Weasley." Draco said innocently.  
  
"No one asked for your opinion, Malfoy." Ron shot back.   
  
Ginny glared at her brother and smiled at Malfoy. "There's nothing wrong with your questions, Mr. Malfoy. Ask me another." She added cheekily.   
  
Ron sputtered as Draco asked politely if Miss Weasley played the pianoforte.   
  
Miss Weasley flushed with pride. "Why yes, Mr. Malfoy. Do you have a preference?"  
  
"Something romantic." His eyes intent on Harry as he spoke. "I must admit a partiality to Mozart as well, Miss Weasley."  
  
"There is a fine pianoforte in the parlor next door, Miss Weasley, if you would like to delight us during our meal." Dumbledore added helpfully.   
  
Miss Weasley smiled and stood, excusing herself from the main room. In a few minutes the first strains of "Voi Che Sapate" could be heard being played rather expertly. Draco kept his eyes on Harry as her sweet voice filled the great hall with the pleasant melody.   
  
_Tell me what love is, what can it be  
What is this yearning, burning in me?_  
  
Harry felt himself color under the intense gaze, but unable to pull himself from it. Something akin to desire was radiating from Malfoy, but it couldn't be directed at him, could it? Ginny sang ardently, her voice rising and falling with the line effortlessly.   
  
_Can I survive it? Will I endure?  
This is my sickness-is there a cure?  
_  
Draco tilted his head thoughtfully at those words, the huskiness of Ginny's voice triggering memories of painful encounters in dark alleys in London. He had haunted Knockturn Alley on occasion, but it only served to remind him of the shamefulness of his preferences. Something flickered in his eyes that Harry noticed but couldn't identify. Something akin to shame, or regret.   
  
_First this obsession seizing my brain  
Starting in passion, ending in pain.  
_  
As the line dipped into minor mode, Ginny's voice turning plaintative, Harry wondered what Draco was trying to say to him. The intensity of the azure gaze directed on him made him uncomfortable, but at the same time, his heart was pounding intensely. His own reaction to the song mirrored the emotions the song was expressing.   
_   
I start to shiver, then I'm on fire,  
Then I'm aquiver with seething desire._  
  
Harry remembered seeing the opera last fall in London. The woman onstage lamented the feelings of love for the first time as an adolescent boy. Now, however, the words took on a wholly different meaning. He shivered involuntarily, remembering the way Draco's body had brushed against his in the game room and his body's traitorous response.   
_   
Who knows the secret? Who holds the key?  
I long for something-what can it be?  
_  
The blue gaze was drawing him in. Harry felt like he was drowning, his entire world being turned upside down by confusion. He couldn't help but feel that somehow, Draco was going to be the one to answer his questions, if only he knew what to ask.   
_   
My brain is reeling, I wonder why.  
And then the feeling I'm going to die.  
_  
Draco swallowed, his gaze earnest as the song rushed towards its climax, feeling his breathing hitch, mocked by the same pattern in the melody. Even now, at his most exposed, Malfoy held back, his upbringing and past preventing him from going beyond this subtle insinuation. 
  
_By day it haunts me, haunts me by night.  
This tender torment, tinged with delight!_  
  
At last Harry could bear it no longer, tearing his gaze away from Draco's almost painfully as Ginny's voice repeated the initial question fervently. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to compose himself and praying just as desperately that no one had noticed his odd behavior. 
_Tell me what love is, what can it be?  
What is this yearning, burning in me?_  
  
The table applauded loudly, and Ginny reappeared in the doorway, flushed pleasantly from the exercise.   
  
"Thank you, Miss Weasley." Draco said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "That was absolutely charming."  
  
Harry said nothing, finishing his meal in near silence.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
_Additional Author Notes_: "Voi Che Sapete" is an Aria from the opera "The Marriage of Figaro," by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, first performed in 1784. It is, as Harry comments, sung by a woman who is playing an adolescent boy, going through his first crush and not understanding it. Below is the original Italian (the opera is sung in Italian) and a literal English translation. The version I use is the version sung by Charlotte Chruch, translator unknown. I don't know if this version would have been sung back in the early 19th century where Façade takes place, but there have been many translations, so it's not out of the realm of possibility, and I found this particular translation to be delightful.   
  
_Voi che sapete che cosa è amor,  
Donne, vedete s'io l'ho nel cor.  
Quello ch'io provo vi ridirò.  
E per me nuovo, capir nol so.  
  
Sento un affeto pien di deir,  
Ch'ora è diletto, ch'ora è martir.  
Gelo, e poi sento l'alma avvampar  
E in un momento torno a gelar;  
Ricerco un bene fuori di me,  
Non so ch'il tiene, non so cos'è  
Sospiro e gemo senza voler,  
Palpito e tremo senza saper.  
Non trovo pace notte nè dì,  
Ma pur mi piace languir così.  
  
Voi che sapete che cosa è amor,  
Donne, vedete s'io l'ho nel cor.  
  
  
Ladies, you who know the nature of love,   
Search for it in my heart!   
I will tell you about my emotions;   
Since they are new to me, I can't understand them.  
  
I feel longing full of desire  
That first is pleasure and then becomes pain.   
I freeze, and then I feel my soul aflame,   
And in the next moment, I turn cold again.   
  
I'm drawn by something beyond myself-  
I don't know how to grasp it; I don't know what it may be.   
Without wishing to, I sigh and groan;   
Without knowing why, I shake and tremble.   
I find no rest night or day,   
But somehow I enjoy suffering like this.  
  
Ladies, you who know the nature of love,   
Search for it in my heart!_  
  



	3. Four in the Morning

_Title:_ Façade 
_Author:_ Malfoi ( shindemo_ii@yahoo.com ) 
_Category:_ Romance/Humor/AU 
_Keywords:_ Slash, Harry, Draco, Jane Austen, Alternate Universe 
_Rating:_ R 
_Spoilers:_ Books 1-4 
_Disclaimer_: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. 
In other words, the characters aren't mine... but the situations I put them in sure are. 

_Author's Notes: _I want to thank everyone for the incredibly inspiring reviews. In order: the very evil bunny, krisis81, celestinne, Ari, Morghaine, bosch, PotterMalfoy, Marionette, Dayna, T.K. Yuy, Morien Alexander, Draco and Aragorn's Love Slave, WildfireFriendship, viota, derek, the-princess-bard, lil mizfit, Jasmine, and Sari of L2. Plus Heidi from FictionAlley.org. As to some of the questions being left in the reviews, yes this fic is slash. And AU. I am trying, however, putting to use some of research by Eve Sedgwick on male/male relations in British Literature. She has fascinating ideas that I hope I'm putting to some good use here. If you're interested in that type of thing, I shamelessly point you to Between Men, her best book (in my humble opinion). 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Façade

Chapter Three

Four in the Morning

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

_Dear Sirius and Remus,_

_I pray this letter finds you as well as when I left. Doubtless you are not missing me. I have met up with the Weasleys and met the enchanting Miss Hermione Granger. Ron is to be congratulated on his choice of partner's. She will keep him in line and make him happy in so many ways. _

_This happy news of Ron's wedding makes me anxious about my own, inevitable, match. _

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate" Draco's nasal drawl interrupted Harry's thoughts. He glanced up, thinking the intimate tone of voice was addressed to him. Malfoy was seated by window, Miss Weasley beside him. She gazed at him, a secret smile on her face as he read from a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets. 

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date"

Harry had to admit that Draco was a credible reader, his voice expressive and natural, as if he spoke in iambic pentameter all the time. 

Turning back to his unfinished letter, Harry continued.

_You both know, as I have confided in you, that I do not wish to press Miss Weasley into a match that is not of her own choosing. It is cruel and unjust. _

"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm'd"

Harry listened, his eyes unconsciously drawn towards the golden haired male. Shaking himself out of revelry, he continued again, Draco's voice a soothing murmur in the background.

_I have made the acquaintance here of a gentleman by the name of Malfoy. Draco Malfoy of Lambton. He is a friend of Miss Granger, incalculably rich, incredibly handsome, intelligent, talented, knowledgable about all women's arts and a fair billiards player besides. _

"And every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd" Draco paused, his tongue flicking over his lips before he continued. He glanced at the figure at the writing desk. 

"But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st," Harry's eyes met his for a brief moment and Draco wondered if he was, perhaps, the subject of Harry's scribblings. "Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, when in eternal lines to time thou grow'st"

_The most surprising thing, other than his being here at all, is the fact that he has spent the time here courting Miss Weasley. He is, by far, the better gentleman between us. Or would be, if he had not been so proud. He spends as much time watching me as he does Miss Weasley. I cannot understand him. I do not know that I want to._

"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee." Draco smiled as he finished. Miss Weasley applauded politely. 

"You are such an accomplished speaker, Mr. Malfoy. Don't you think so, Mr. Potter?" Miss Weasley asked.

Harry looked up, tilting his head. "Indeed, Miss Weasley. Mr. Malfoy is quite a pleasure to listen to. It's as if he enjoys hearing himself as much as we enjoy listening to him." A small grin curved his lips as Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps you think you could do better, Potter?" 

"As soon as I finish my letter, I shall demonstrate." He inclined his head in Ginny's direction. "If Miss Weasley desires."

Ginny blushed. "Of course I would love to hear you read, Mr. Potter. I cannot remember the last time you did such." Ginny bit her lip, looking downcast for a moment.

Harry looked as if he meant to speak, but Draco interrupted. "Finish your letter, Potter. I shall pick out a sonnet for you, with Miss Weasley's assistance."

Harry nodded, thankful for Malfoy's graceful aid but puzzled as to why he would behave in such a way. "I shall only be a moment, I assure you."

_We shall remain at Hogwarts until the Saturday. Dumbledore is throwing us a small feast for our departure, at which time, I hope, we shall part company from Malfoy forever. _

_I pray you, write to me at The Burrow, as I long to hear the news of Godric's Hollow. _

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Harry _

Harry quickly sealed the letter, pressing the small gold tool into the hot crimson wax. The "P" monogram embossed neatly onto the smudge. The "P" was a particular kind, using a lightning bolt in place of the stem for the letter P. Most people recognized the subtle difference, but few knew the significance of the lightning bolt. He stood, walking to the window where Malfoy and Ginny were seated and settled himself in an armchair on Draco's other side. 

"Ready, Potter?" Draco asked, a hint of a challenge in his tone. 

"Without a doubt." Harry answered, and reached for the book. Draco passed it to him, their fingers brushing casually. He nearly jumped, but kept his demeanor indifferent, shooting Draco only a slightly confused look. The blue eyes met his with some humor before turning serious. Harry took the opportunity to look at the text, smiling once at Ginny before beginning to read.  
"Two loves I have of comfort and despair,  
Which like two spirits do suggest me still,  
The better angel is a man right fair:  
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill."  
  
His voice was hesitant, lacking Draco's self-confidence, but intoned clearly enough. As he read on, his ears began to burn slightly, his cheeks becoming flushed and his words even less confident. Draco had selected this sonnet with a purpose alright. But for what? Were these Draco's feelings or his own? Harry wasn't sure anymore.  
  
"To win me soon to hell my female evil,  
Tempteth my better angel from my side,  
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil:  
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.  
And whether that my angel be turned fiend,  
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell,  
But being both from me both to each friend,  
I guess one angel in another's hell.  
Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt,  
Till my bad angel fire my good one out."  
  
When he finished, Ginny smiled at him encouragingly. "Thank you so much, Mr. Potter," she said, demurely.  
  
Draco only snorted. "Can you not even read a decent sonnet? What kind of a lover are you, Potter?"  
  
Harry flushed hotly. "Now, see here, Malfoy-"   
  
But Draco waved a hand, silencing him. "Leave the poetry to the experts, Potter." He arched a brow, a smile upon his lips. "For example . . .  
  
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all,  
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?  
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call,  
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more:  
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,  
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest,  
But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest  
By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.  
I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief  
Although thou steal thee all my poverty:  
And yet love knows it is a greater grief  
To bear greater wrong, than hate's known injury.  
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,  
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes."  
  
As Draco finished, Harry's dared not meet Miss Weasley's eye, afraid his flushed skin was suspect enough. But she touched his sleeve gently, and smiled, before addressing Malfoy.   
  
"Perhaps, Mr. Malfoy, we've read enough poetry, today." She suggested softly. 

  
  
~_~_~

Draco walked near the lake, eying the inviting water and longing for his own pond at home, Malfoy Manor. 

He had come to Hogwarts as Hermione's escort and friend. As she had no male relations of her own it was only natural that her childhood friend be asked to accompany her to her intended. He had expected parties, the local country gentry, perhaps a pretty girl or two. And of course, having to endure the Weasleys. 

It was not that Draco disliked the Weasleys on principle. Although he had a fair amount of pride and disdain for the lower classes, even wealthy lower class like the Weasleys, he had been taught to value each individual. His real cause for dislike towards the red-haired clan was the simple fact that they were taking his friend away from him, and they could never be good enough for her. He had endured the greater part of the ball in silent arrogance, turning a cool eye on any girl that looked his way.

Then he had seen Harry Potter across the ballroom. Staring at him with the most wonderful combination of curiosity and awe. And everything had changed.

"Draco!"

He turned at the sound of Hermione's voice and smiled at her. "Hullo, dear Hermione. And how are you faring this fine Tuesday?"

Her hair was in disarray, thick curls escaping from her carefully prepared chignon, but they embraced like siblings. Hermione felt that Draco truly was the elder brother she had never been fortunate enough to have. "I am well, Draco. And you?" She eyed him knowingly. "What has got you wandering the edge of the lake in contemplation?"

Draco sighed. "You know me too well, Hermione." He let her go and took her arm, walking them towards the trees. "I am indeed in comtemplation."

"Of what?" Brown eyes twinkled merrily. "Or rather, I should think, of whom?" 

"Of a certain redhead." Draco said easily. "She is a delightful girl. Any man would be lucky to win her heart." 

Hermione smiled at her friend. "She will be a delightful sister, I believe. I shall plot to get her married straight away." He smiled back and they walked a bit in silence. 

"And what do you think of Mr. Potter?" She asked.

"I think him-" he paused. "I believe him to be a fine gentleman. Perhaps a little too soft spoken for a girl like Miss Weasley."

Hemione smiled. "You think yourself a better match then?" She asked.

Draco hesitated.

"I know you have no interest in her, Draco." His longtime friend, and confidant, smiled at him. "I do not know what you intend, though." She grinned at him, her prominent front teeth exposed to view. "If you are not careful you shall end up with both of them in love with you, when I know you only mean for one."

"Clever as ever, Miss Granger." He said somberly. "Spot on, in fact. But you know I cannot do anything." He face drew tight. "Father wrote me another letter. Reminding me not to 'get too attached' to any of the girls here, as I have a perfectly suitable fiancée waiting for me at Malfoy Manor." 

Hermione blinked. "Who? I thought you said you had dissuaded your father with ideas that you were joining a monastery?"

He frowned. "No, that fell through. Father found out it was only a ruse. Damn stupid servants. I should have that Dobby sacked." He sighed again, returning to his current reason for melancholy. "Miss Pansy Parkinson is to be the next Mrs. Malfoy. Or so I am told." He growled slightly. 

Hermione struggled not to laugh, commiserating with her friend. "Oh, dear, well. That could pose a problem, couldn't it?" 

Draco scowled at her. "I do not find the situation as amusing as you do, Hermione." 

"Obviously."

"And besides that" his tone grew serious once more. "What am I doing, ruining Potter's chances for happiness with Miss Weasley? She is his intended even if not they are not engaged. Just as Miss Parkinson is my own."

Hermione leaned on his shoulder, comfortingly, and he drew her into his embrace. "How can I pursue someone who's future is decided already? And if it is not decided, I shall be wrecking what was so carefully crafted. And yet I cannot back away. His every look, sigh, even glare drives me wild with fancy."

She smiled, kissing Draco's cheek. "Love does not understand the plans of men, Draco." She drew back. "But I have faith in your decisions. I know that you will endevour to do the right thing. Whatever that may be." 

~_~_~

That night Harry found himself wandering the hallways of Hogwarts restlessly. His mind occupied with thoughts of Malfoy as well as Miss Weasley. He sighed, one hand gripping the candleholder tightly to keep away the darkness. As he gazed at the portrait covered the walls, he had the oddest sensation that the portraits watched him back. 

Turning a corner, he began to hear faint strains of music. He blinked, curious, and moved towards the noise, following it as it got louder and he could make out a melody. It was "Voi Che Sapete," which Ginny had played for them not four days ago. 

Wondering who could be up at this late hour, he stopped outside the Grand Ballroom, where he had seen Draco Malfoy for the first time. Cautiously opening the door, he saw a shadowed figured, illuminated only by flickering candlelight and the moonlight pouring in from the large windows. He thought at first it might be one of the ghosts Dumbledore had mentioned. The figure seemed so pale, his hair silver and nearly incandescent in the dim light. 

As he walked closer, the single candlestick in his hand, the figure stopped playing, glancing up to see him and leaving the melody unresolved. 

Draco swallowed, seemingly frozen in place. "Good evening, Potter."

Harry set his candle on the top of the pianoforte, next to Draco's larger candelabra. The flames danced and flickered towards each other. "It's nearly morning, Malfoy." He turned his head, regarding his midnight companion. "What are you doing up so late? And playing the pianoforte in the Grand Ballroom, no less?"

Draco shrugged in response, his voice tired and somewhat hoarse. "And what of you, Potter? I'm amazed you can show your face in here after that poor example of dancing you gave us last week."

Harry went red, but he challenged the other boy's superiority. "And you are so very skilled in dance yourself."

"I am." Draco answered simply. "My father made sure that I knew all the dances. Even the more scandalous ones one never finds outside the Continent."

Harry blinked, his interest piqued. "Scandalous dances? Like what?

Draco grinned. "Have you ever heard of the waltz, Potter?"

Harry stared at Draco in seeming awe. "Once . . . a French bloke I knew at university claimed to know it. None of us really bothered to find out, though."

Draco stood up from the piano bench, taking Harry's hand and pulling him towards the window. The moonlight was reflected off the highly polished floor. Harry blinked at the intimate touch of Draco's gloveless hand on his own and shifted uncomfortably. 

"Do you want to know, or don't you, Potter?" Draco asked. Face to face, they were around the same height, Draco being perhaps slightly smaller than Harry in frame. 

"I-I want. . ."

"What do you want?" The voice was close, more intimate. Harry blinked, trying to clear his head.

"Are you going to show me the waltz?" He asked neutrally. He could not tell if there was disappointment in Draco's eyes or not. In the moonlight they looked pale, almost luminescent. 

Draco said nothing but guided the hand he held, placing it on his left shoulder. He then clasped Harry's left hand with his own, stepping close to wrap his right hand around Harry's waist, pulling their bodies into alignment.

Harry's eyes were downcast and his entire body was tingling with Draco's closeness. He felt like his skin was on fire whenever Draco touched him, even breathed on him. He nearly trembled. 

"Right." A husky voice said near his ear. "Now, I'm leading. You're the woman."

"I-I'm the what?" Harry's voice cracked on the first syllable.

"The woman." Draco smiled. "Cannot expect you to be able to lead when you don't know the dance, now can we?" He tightened his hold on Harry's waist. "Now follow me. To the count of three. One, two, three..." 

Draco kept counting, guiding Harry's body around the dance floor effortlessly. Their hips were tantalizingly pressed against each others' as they turned and changed direction. After only a few minutes, Harry had to admit Draco's was right on two counts. First, the Waltz was indeed scandalous and second, he was an exceptional dancer. Harry felt woefully inadequate even in his role as follower. 

How long they danced like that, Harry did not know. Time seemed to flow freely yet stand still when he was in Draco's arms. He was guided skillfully in the moonlight, the pressure of Draco's hand on his lower back directing him at his seeming whim. Harry began to feel dizzy and looked up, to see Draco staring at him intensely. 

"What do you think, Potter?" 

"I, erm . . ."

"Do you want to take the lead?" Draco asked, bringing them to a stop. 

Harry flushed. "Do you really think I'm ready?"

"The woman can guide too, Potter." Draco smirked. "Look at how Hermione treats your friend Weasley."

Harry couldn't help but smile, although he was still unsure. He hesitated to move from the safety of Draco's direction.

"Come on, Potter. Take me."

"Beg pardon?"

"Don't you want to impress Miss Weasley?" Draco asked, an eyebrow lifted. 

"I, well. . . I could never dance as well as you in any case." Harry muttered darkly.

"No, you couldn't." Draco agreed. "But think of what a sensation a waltz would be at the next ball. Even a poorly danced one. Take me." Draco moved Harry's hands once more, placing himself fully inside Harry's grasp.

"Now, nice and slow. One, two, three"

Harry hesitantly tried his turn at leading. Draco made an excellent partner, as well as a leader. He followed Harry's inclinations nearly before Harry had demonstrated them, their bodies clinging to one another in the moonlight. From his position of dominance Harry felt more compelled to watch Draco as they danced, studying the illuminated features. 

So finealmost feminine in a way. From the high crown of silvery blonde hair down to the delicate pointed chin, Draco was visual perfection. They danced for what must have been hours, until the lightness of the sky announced that dawn was soon approaching. 

They came to a stop once more. Harry letting Draco free from his embrace almost reluctantly. 

"Thank you, Malfoy." He said at last, the hand that had recently been entwined with Draco's brushing his hair back from his forehead, revealing his scar. 

"It was my pleasure, Potter." Draco drawled. He blinked at the scar revealed on Harry's forehead and reached out instinctively, tracing the length of it delicately with a finger. 

Harry closed his eyes at the touch, then opened them to meet Draco's scrutiny. "It's from an accident, as a child. The accident that killed my mother and father." He mumbled, almost embarrassed.

Draco met his eyes, expressing sympathy but also something Harry couldn't define. "You have no cause to be ashamed of yourself, Potter." Then the seriousness was gone and the usual smirk was in its place. "You acquitted yourself well in the dance." Draco turned his head, not meeting Potter's gaze. "Miss Weasley is a lucky girl indeed." The last was said softly, a tentative smile gracing Draco's lips before he pivoted, exiting the ballroom leaving Harry alone. 

  
AN: Sonnets used were, in order, 18, 144, and 40. 

  
  



	4. Something Lies Beyond the Scene

_Title:_ Façade 
_Author:_ Malfoi ( shindemo_ii@yahoo.com ) 
_Category:_ Romance/Humor/AU 
_Keywords:_ Slash, Harry, Draco, Jane Austen, Alternate Universe 
_Rating:_ R 
_Spoilers:_ Books 1-4 
_Disclaimer_: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. 
In other words, the characters aren't mine... but the situations I put them in sure are. 

_Author's Notes: _My apologies for this chapter taking so long. School is wrapping up and it's eating me alive right now. *mutters something about stupid professors making their due dates all at the same time*. Thanks as always to my lovely beta and everyone who's reviewed and liked Facade. And a special thank you to Lorena Manuel for being the kickass 3x4 AU Queen. Visit her archive here: http://www.ontheqt.org/~hermione/archive.html and read "Chiaroscuro." 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Façade

Chapter Four

Something Lies Beyond the Scene

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Friday morning found Harry and Ron unwittingly with Draco, hunting on the edge of Hogwarts property for fowl. At Dumbledore's suggestion Ron and Harry had made plans to go hunting. Draco had all the appearance of a well-bred gentleman and so it seemed incongruous to Hermione's statement that Draco was a better shot than Harry or Ron. Male pride and Hermione's suggestion, or rather, insistance, had forced them to invite Draco along. To the surprise of both men, he had accepted.   
  
The trio wandered the border of the forest, guns at the ready. Draco led, after Ron had insisted. He had whispered to Harry that he did not trust Draco behind him with a gun, the very idea made him nervous. Harry had agreed to walk in the middle, keeping Draco and Ron as separate as possible. He was not able to stop the verbal sparring that inevitably accompanied Weasley and Malfoy being near one another.   
  
Ron chatted animatedly with Harry about his latest fight with Miss Granger, "And THEN Hermione said-"  
  
"Will you shut up, Weasley? You're going to scare the game away." Draco interjected, scathingly.   
  
"-That I'd been right after all. Erm, what was that, Malfoy?" Ron blinked, looking up from his conversation with Harry.  
  
Draco glared, annoyance plain on his features... "It matters not since the ridiculous brightness of your hair would scare the game away before we even got within hearing distance."  
  
"You prat!" Ron thundered. "At least I'm not ferret faced."  
  
"Excuse me, Weasel, but did you just call me a ferret?" Draco's voice turned to ice.  
  
Ron, fearless, replied haughtily. "Don't make me insult your hearing as well."  
  
Harry cleared his throat. "Well, shall we continue?" He moved past the quarrelling couple. "Dumbledore mentioned some lovely game to be found on those hills over there." He pointed in the direction of the forest.   
  
Draco was easily swayed by this distraction, as he was rather excited to have an opportunity to walk behind Potter, enabling him to subtly examine his backside as presented in rather snug breeches. Ron ran ahead to walk with Harry and resumed the prior conversation.   
  
"So then, Hermione and I . . ."  
  
By mid-morning they had a fair amount of birds between the three of them. Malfoy had the most, in fact, which made Ron rather irritable. Draco, of course, took every opportunity to rub it in.   
  
"Well, would you look at that? Even with my 'ferret face' I seem to have bagged more birds."  
  
"They probably fainted dead away at the sight of you." Ron retorted.  
  
Draco seemed to lose his patience. "Do not try me, Weasley. I am here on Hermione's behest not my own. Otherwise you and I should never have met."  
  
Ron narrowed his eyes "It is a pity Hermione could not have traveled by herself."  
  
"It is a pity Hermione had to travel at all. I'm beginning to believe I should have prevented it."  
  
Ron looked somewhat surprised at that. "Prevented it? How? What are you playing, Malfoy?"  
  
"Hemione is my friend, Weasley, and she knows that I could never love her the way she deserves to be loved." Draco paused at this admission, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the red head. "However, had I known she was going to sink to the depths of society, I rather think I should have married her regardless."  
  
Harry interjected at this point, placing an arm on Ron's to keep him grounded. "That's unfair, Malfoy. You talk as if you were several hundred degrees above the Weasleys, which isn't the case."  
  
"Isn't it?" Draco sneered. "Compared with the blood of a Malfoy, the blood of a Weasley might as well be mud... considering their limited connections."  
  
Ron exploded. "Why you smarmy little bastard-" At this point Ron launched himself at Draco. Harry moved quickly, placing himself in front of Ron in an attempt to prevent his friend from physically reaching Malfoy. Unfortunately, Ron was so enraged that he failed to notice Harry in front of him and collided with his friend. Harry was then thrust forward into Draco who, understandably surprised, lost his balance and fell backwards. Rather unfortunately for all parties, this altercation took place at the top of a rather large and steep hill. As Draco fell backwards, Harry fell on top of him and the pair began rolling with alarming speed towards the bottom of the embankment.  
  
Harry did not remember exactly what happened on the way down, but he remembered the sensation of being alternatingly pressed against hard rock and the more forgiving hardness of Draco's body. He knew at some point his flailing limbs had been gently enfolded between them, the other boy's arms tight around his own as momentum conveyed them rather roughly to the bottom of the hill. When they came to a stop, Harry was on top of the other boy, his head cushioned gently on Draco's shoulder. He could feel Draco panting beneath him, chest heaving. Everything hurt, Harry knew he was going to have bruises for days to come. He opened his eyes, and made a small groaning sound. Looking up, his gaze locked with Malfoy's, the blue eyes gazing up at him, incredibly bright.   
  
"Alright, Potter?" Draco gasped, looking as disoriented as Harry himself felt.  
  
Harry swallowed, "I believe so." He felt some residual dizziness, amplified by looking down at Draco's face. His normally pale cheeks were attractively flushed pink from exertion. He knew his own were likely stained as well, and growing darker as he realized just how intimately they had landed. Their bodies were entangled almost obscenely, Harry's leg wedged firmly between Draco's thighs. Draco's hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and Harry's own were resting on Malfoy's chest. Harry tore his gaze away from the other man's face only at Ron's shout from above.  
  
"HOLD HIM DOWN, HARRY!" Ron was making his way down the hill carefully, the anger he was feeling showing plainly.  
  
Harry looked back down at Draco, noting the other's expression was almost comically incredulous. Draco met his gaze again, a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth as he chuckled. "Oh yes, Potter. Please do 'hold me down.' I am such a danger to us all."   
  
Harry flushed, Draco shifted beneath him and Harry was acutely conscious of the hard lines of muscle he could feel underneath Draco's clothes. "You shouldn't have said that, Malfoy."  
  
"What? Regarding your hold on me?"  
  
Harry's tongue appeared, whetting his lips. "No. Regarding Miss Granger."  
  
The blue eyes darkened. "He deserved it. And I'll thank you not to intrude in matters that don't concern you. This is between Weasley and myself."  
  
The coolness of Draco's gaze acted like a bucket of ice water, bringing Harry back to his senses painfully quick. "Ron is my friend. And I'll thank _you_ not to insult his family in my presence." Hands that had been loosely pressed against Draco's coat tightened their hold, pressing the boy back into the ground as Harry maneuvered their bodies to a far less obscene and more obviously antagonistic position just as Ron made it to the bottom of the hill.  
  
"Let me at him, Harry!"  
  
Harry gave Draco a rather intense glare before getting up. Malfoy had proven himself an ass in every sense of the word, the pride and arrogance that had seemed a deceptive façade proved shockingly real. Harry was embarrassed at having fallen for what was obviously a game to Malfoy. He staggered to his feet, hands brushing at his clothing. "He's not worth it, Ron. Hold yourself, man." Harry insisted.  
  
Draco turned his narrow gaze on Harry, looking deceptively vulnerable from his position on his back "Not worth it, am I?" He asked, obviously surprised.   
  
"No," Harry began calmly. "And your consequent behavior merely spared me the concern I might have felt, had you behaved in a more gentleman like manner."  
  
The accusation was painful and left Draco somewhat stunned. The pale blond looked confused and betrayed, his mouth open as if he wanted to respond.  
  
Ron chose that moment to add his two cents, his eyes still flashing dangerously. His fists clenched and unclenched tightly as he stared down at Malfoy with contempt. "If you ever try to speak with my sister again, Malfoy, I shall be most obliged to beat you into a bloody pulp!"  
  
Draco's mouth closed tightly, shock disappearing behind a cold mask of indifference. He stood, slowly, eyeing both men with equal amounts of disdain as he turned away, walking in the direction of the forest with a determined gait. Harry and Ron stood at the base of the hill, watching Malfoy's progress towards the forbidding forest.   
  
"I cannot believe him." Ron said softly, glancing at Harry.  
  
His friend sighed, readjusting the gold-framed glasses that had gotten jostled en route. "He's just as you said, Ron-An arrogant prat. I can't imagine how Miss Granger ever befriended one such as him."  
  
The redhead touched his shoulder lightly, starting to make his way back up the hill where their guns and game lay forgotten. "I cannot either." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Well, shall we return home? Dumbledore has promised us a right feast in honor of our going-away tomorrow. I know that Fred, George and Charlie are bringing up gentlemen from the Regiment to join us." Ron grinned, his good humor somewhat restored as he tried to cheer his friend. "We shall have a lively night of cards, at least."

  
~_~_~

  
The rest of the day passed blissfully without Malfoy's company. He, in fact, did not make an appearance until that evening's party. He showed up, resplendent in a dark brown coat over a cream colored shirt that gave him a somewhat softer appear than his usual dramatic style, and made Harry feel almost regretful of the harsh words that had passed between them. That was, until Draco very coolly ignored both himself and Ron all throughout the meal, concentrating his energies on Miss Granger and Miss Weasley. Ginny was, of course, extremely flattered by the undivided attention.   
  
Harry's face was devoid of emotion, choosing to smile indulgently at Ginny's admiration, contenting himself with the fact that Draco, like the Weasleys, Miss Granger, and himself, were leaving Hogwarts the next day. Malfoy, unlike the rest of the party, was heading for Lambton while the others journeyed to the Burrow to make preparations for the wedding between Ron and Miss Granger.   
  
"Oi, Harry! Come and join us!" Fred (or was it George?) bellowed from the card tables.   
  
"Yeah, Come on, Harry. You need to lose a bit of money tonight." Lieutenant Lee Jordon added. Harry allowed himself to be swept away by the twins and Lt. Jordan, watching with amusement as they blatantly cheated in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy watching him, engaged in conversation with Miss Granger, softly. Hermione caught his eye, smiling once at him before returning to the matter at hand.  
  
"A Toast, A Toast!" Dumbledore cried out. He stood up from his place at a small corner table, engaged in a chess game with one Severus Snape, chemist. The black haired man scowled before lifting his glass with the rest of the party. "To the happiness of Miss Granger and Mister Weasley!" Ron flushed with pride.   
  
"Hip Hip, Hooray! Hip Hip Hooray!" The crowd responded.   
  
Fred and George started singing a rather bawdy tune of the time, causing Hermione to flush with embarrassment. Malfoy seemed both shocked and horrified by this, which made Harry smirk. Malfoy would never fit in with the Weasleys, even if he tried for Miss Granger's benefit. The Weasleys may not have been as high class as the Malfoys but they enjoyed life with a vigor that Harry could only dream of. Harry was filled with the resentful pride of one who has had what is most dear to them insulted. The Weasleys, ever since his school days, had been his surrogate family.   
  
As the night grew later, the wine flowed more freely (along with the toasts and drunken renditions of popular songs). Harry noted Malfoy sipping tea, the usual look of bored arrogance in place even at the late hour. He looked up, slightly tipsy, from his conversation with Bill Weasley to notice Fred and George whispering beside Malfoy. He watched, with almost morbid attention, as one of the twins approached him, offering a glass of wine. The cool blond looked up, but declined. The other twin, with Draco distracted, tipped a small vial into the abandoned teacup before vanishing. The rejected twin seemed non-plussed, drinking the proffered wine himself before rejoining his brother. Harry blinked.   
  
The blond scowled, reaching for his teacup and taking a long draught. Hermione chose that moment to abandon her future husband for the time being and chat up her neglected friend. Malfoy smiled broadly at her and Harry lost it. He sputtered mid-sentence and tried to stifle a laugh. Fred and George were in near hysterics across the room. Hermione looked shocked and amused at the same time. Draco's perfect teeth were stained an atrocious black.   
  
Draco seemed to notice something was wrong, frowning and looking around the room with an accusing eye. Hermione tactfully whispered to Draco the issue and he blushed, cheeks tinged pink as he rose and quickly made his excuses to Miss Granger and Miss Weasley. His pale blue gaze met Potter's as he exited. Harry laughed mirthlessly, grinning like an idiot with Fred and George snickering in the corner. Draco returned the gaze coolly, noble features taut with suppressed emotion.  
  
Harry smiled, satisfaction flowing through him. Malfoy was gone and Harry was where he belonged. Thank God for the Weasley twins. Harry reminded himself to thank them personally, later. There would be no questioning gazes from the blond that night. No more midnight waltzes, no more billiards interrogations. His feelings could return to what they had been previously, before Malfoy and midnight and music. And, most importantly, Ginny was safe from Malfoy's handsome looks and persuasive charms. As Malfoy left, Ron came up to Harry, grinning madly. "Did you see? Harry! Did you see?" He laughed heartily. "I never thought I'd be glad to see the day I had two pranksters for brothers."  
  
Harry grinned back. "I remember when they did the same prank to me-that first vacation away from university." Harry shook his head. "My teeth were black for a fortnight, I swear."  
  
"You know what, though?" Ron asked slyly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't think Malfoy's ever looked better."

~_~_~

  
The next day dawned overcast. Ron staggered down the main walk, rubbing his temples and groaning with the effects of too many celebratory toasts. Harry smiled at that as he packed, helping direct the loading of the carriages the family would be taking to The Burrow. Bill and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were taking one carriage, leaving Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny with the second carriage.   
  
As the carriages were loading, Malfoy's arrived. The blond brusquely moved past Harry to oversee the loading of his individual trunk, Miss Granger at his elbow. They embraced once, Malfoy's face a cool mask. Hermione seemed somewhat concerned but he brushed her worries away with a careless hand, whispering something in her ear as he glanced in Harry's direction. She blinked, but nodded, glancing at Harry himself with questioning eyes. "I shall see you at your wedding, Miss Granger." He said formally, and departed swiftly thereafter.  
  
Miss Granger watched him go with sadness in her eyes. She turned towards Harry and offered a hesitant smile. "He is like a brother to me, you see." She said softly, and moved past Harry to her future husband's side, fussing over him and his headache.   
  
Dumbledore ambled up to him, a letter in his hand, which he pressed into Harry's. "Someone left this for you, Mr. Potter." The aged eyes twinkled merrily at him. Noting the confusion on the young man's face, Dumbledore smiled kindly. "There are some rather lovely gardens near the lake that are good for walking in when one has something to think about." Harry nodded, taking the letter and making his excuses from his host and walking towards the lake. 

The letter, addressed in an elegant hand, was to Mr. Harry Potter. He turned the parchment over carefully and noted the Malfoy crest impressed in green wax. He stared at the letter for a long moment before opening it carefully.  
  
_Be not alarmed, Sir, that this letter contains any renewal of those sentiments that are so offensive to you. I hope that you will do me the honor or reading this letter, so that I may explain the nature of the relationship between Miss Granger and myself.   
  
Miss Granger and myself grew up in the same small village, as you are aware I am sure. We spent our summers running wild and swimming in trout streams. She, unlike other peers of my acquaintance, was not intimidated by my name. My father, however, found out of our friendship and disapproved, sending me to boarding school. Our acquaintance was maintained through corrospondence throughout the school year and secret meetings during the summer.  
  
When Miss Granger came of age she was presented in London through my sponsorship. It was there that she met Mr. Weasley. At this same time I was involved with some gentleman in the seedier areas of London. My father knew nothing of this. One night my father came to visit me. I came home, very intoxicated, and reeking of the gaming houses. Rather than explain to my father what I was doing in Knockturn Alley and face disownment, Hermione took the blame for my state. As she said, there was no possible way my father could think any less of her in any case.  
  
For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal to the testimony of Miss Granger herself. She is sworn to secrecy but will, at my urging, confirm all I have revealed. I have nothing more to say, except God Bless you.   
  
Draco Malfoy_  
  
Harry let out a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself. Draco's tale, however brief, did explain the deep attachment he felt towards Miss Granger, as well as his reasons for being separate from her. Knockturn Alley was a well-known haunt of mollies, or male prostitutes. He hardly knew what to make of Draco's confession. He himself had never ventured to Knockturn Alley, but knew of it through acquaintances of his. Harry puzzled over his tittilated reaction, the memory of Draco's smoldering eyes making him shiver.   
  
He gently refolded the letter, placing it in his pocket. He stared at the lake for a long moment at once admiring of Draco's bravery and at the same time completely dumbstruck by the amount of confidence and trust Malfoy must hold in him to have confessed such a thing to begin with.   
  
"Harry?"  
  
Miss Granger's voice broke through his thoughts and he turned, surprised.   
  
"Miss Granger."  
  
She smiled. "You've read his letter, I presume?" At Harry's nod, she continued. "He has a prodigious faith in people, despite what he's been through. And quite contrary to his upbringing."   
  
"I . . . that is, I am not . . ." Harry stammered, his cheeks flushing as he skittered delicately around the subject.  
  
Hermione merely shrugged, taking his arm and leading him back towards the carriages where their party was waiting. "Draco would not ask of you anything you are not willing to give, Harry." She said simply. "But do not allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice."  
  
  



	5. En Famille

_Author's Notes: _I'm a Schnoogler! Yeah Baby! Go look me up! And I'm finished with most of the high stress of the term, so yay! Thank you, as always, to all the people who review. I have 'Enhanced Statistic' now and my eyes boggle every time I read the hit count. How can I have over 300 people read my story but only 50 reviews? *pouts* Anyways. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. Thanks to my lovely Beta for making me write in complete sentences, instead of my habitual fragments. *looks meek* It's stream of consciousness I swear! _Beta notes:_ Yeah, I got that feeling too. I'm trying my best here folks, I'll hopefully have the first few chapters re-edited by the end of July - my plate's pretty full right now.

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Façade

Chapter Five

En Famille

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The distance to the Burrow was considerably longer than 50 miles. Harry was kept occupied for the most part by his memories of the past week at Hogwarts. He gazed out the window at the landscape, allowing the breeze of motion to fight the sweat of the hot summer day. The air was not cool, but at least it was moving. The dark haired boy felt stifled enough even in the light summer trousers and jacket. He was seated next to Ginny, who was talking animatedly with her future sister-in-law about the plans for the wedding, which was to take place sooner than Harry had realized.   
  
Ron, for his part, had decided to tune out the women's conversation in favor of a nap, hoping no doubt to awaken with significantly less of a headache. How on earth his friend could sleep while being constantly jostled was a mystery to Harry, but he made no comment, as it allowed him to think without interruption.  
  
What on earth was to be made of Draco Malfoy. He was, without a doubt, glad for the other man's absence, but the reasons behind this relief were unknown to Harry and therefore the subject of his musings. He recalled his first impressions of the man: Handsome, arrogant, and completely out of place at an Assembly such as Dumbledore's. It was that aloofness that had caught Harry's attention in the first place, and he admired Malfoy. He had admired men in the past-Ron's brother Bill, for instance, and another blonde god named Cedric Diggory-but Harry had been loathe to acknowledge that these feelings might go beyond simple admiration, until he saw Malfoy.

Malfoy, whom Harry had admired in the billiards room for more than just his skill at billiards. Malfoy, who had had Ginny play a love song so he could study Harry's reaction to it. Malfoy, who had held Harry close while they waltzed in the Grand Ballroom after midnight. Malfoy, whom Harry had held close in return. It was this last admission that was problematic. It was one thing to be held, and Malfoy had taken the role as the pursuer from the very start, challenging Harry in all sorts of ways - but, it was another thing completely to pursue in return. At the billiards game, Harry had bravely challenged Malfoy back, only to have it turned on him, leaving him feeling foolish and surprisingly guilty. Malfoy seemed perfectly willing to follow through with the overtures made towards Harry, and his letter was proof of his experience in romantic trysts. Harry, on the other hand, was an innocent, who could only marvel at how the lithe form felt so right in his arms when he was obviously male and therefore their relationship was wrong, at least in the eyes of society.   
  
Malfoy was not a pleasant man. He was charming when he wanted to be, but only if it suited his purposes. Harry had the suspicion that the charming exterior held a cynical and possibly mischievous personality. One could not enjoy the role of charmer as thoroughly as Malfoy did without a sense of humor. But side by side with this gentlemanly seducer was the antagonistic prat. The heated comments between Ron and Malfoy that day on the hills were enough to give Harry pause to the thought of connecting himself with Malfoy even through friendship. However incongruous it seemed to Harry that Malfoy could be so many different things to different people, it made sense. To Miss Weasley, and to some extent Miss Granger as well, Malfoy was the epitome of gentlemanly behavior. To Ron, he was all cunning and malice. To himself . . . Harry frowned. To himself, Malfoy was honest, even earnest, he realized. He fingered his coat pocket lightly where the letter was concealed. Although the honest declaration within spoke of the desire for understanding, it had seemed a letter of farewell. One last explanation, as there would be none forthcoming.   
  
Harry stared out the window, his lips pursing lightly. Perhaps it was for the best that they had quarreled, if that was what the situation between them could be labeled. 'Quarreling' implied some kind of attachment, which they lacked, but their altercation had certainly aborted the likelihood of such an attachment in the future. He closed his eyes, remembering the way Malfoy had carefully cradled him as they tumbled down the embankment. If only he had not said such things about Ron, if only Harry had understood . . .   
  
He leaned his head against the wall of the carriage. There was nothing to be done about it now, and that was final. Harry found himself shocked at the realization that he was relieved, as well as bereaved. It was unlike him to back away from a challenge, but perhaps Malfoy was too much of a challenge. He certainly seemed to think that Harry was no longer worth his energy.   
  
The Burrow came into view, managing to look as always that it must certainly be held up by some magical force. Gnarled trees lining the walls of the garden, contrasting and complimenting the plethora of weeds and overgrown grass that grew by the large pond. When the carriages finally halted in the drive, the passengers tumbled out, greatly wearied and dusty from the road. The ladies swept inside to prepare the bedrooms and relax while the gentlemen were left to unload the carriages. Noticing the contemplative face of his friend, Ron pulled Harry aside for a moment.  
  
"So, Harry?" Ron started, stretching his lanky form after being cramped inside the carriage for hours.   
  
Harry looked up, tearing his mind from Draco, the letter, and Hermione's words. "What is it, Ron?"  
  
Ron smiled slightly. "I know you've been thinking." He reached over and tapped his friend's forehead lightly with a finger. "You get all wrinkly up there and it your scar changes from being a wonky sort of 'S' to an even wonkier sort of 'N'." He grinned, as Harry self-consciously smoothed his brow. "So come on, then. Fess up. What's got you so serious?"  
  
Harry glanced towards the garden and sighed, raking his fingers back through his hair. "Well, I don't know. I suppose it's about Ginny. . ." He tilted his head. In a way it was about Ginny... or at least the fact that, if someone like Malfoy even considered courting her, she was worth far more than someone like him. Draco was so handsome, rich, and charming. Harry was just... Harry. He was the honorary Weasley brother without any virtues of his own. He was not handsome, nor rich, nor particularly charming. As a child he'd found himself the subject of brutal teasing by his foster family's son, Dudley, and his friends. Regardless of Malfoy's encroachment, Harry felt that he could never truthfully ask for Ginny now, and how on earth could he disappoint his surrogate family by not going through with the engagement?  
  
He looked back up with a heavy sigh, only to see Ron grinning at him maniacally. "What?" He asked suspiciously.  
  
Ron just grinned, clapping Harry's shoulder lightly. "Mate, I've got to say... I'm so happy. It's the decision we've all been wanting to hear."  
  
Harry blinked. "What?"  
  
"You're wondering how to propose to Ginny, aren't you?" Ron laughed. "Typical Potter. You know she'd accept you no matter how you did it, Harry." He grinned more broadly.   
  
Harry stared dumbly, having lost the power of speech. How on earth was he going to postpone an engagement announcement now? Ron just smiled comfortingly, mistaking the source of Harry's shocked expression.  
  
"Ah, I'm sorry, mate. You wanted to keep it a surprise?" Ron grinned, seeing the hopeful expression in the bright green eyes. "Well, tell you what, I solemnly swear not to hint anything to Ginny or Mother. All right?"  
  
Swallowing, Harry nodded, keeping his eyes downcast as relief flooded through his system. Ron chuckled, once again mistaking the source of the emotion. One phrase ensconced itself in Harry's jumble of thoughts.  
  
_Bloody hell_.

~_~_~

  
Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor just past lunch the following day. His mother, Narcissa, was there to greet him.   
  
"Draco, darling, so glad you're home at last."   
  
He embraced her casually. "It is nice to see you as well, Mother." To his great surprise and utter dismay, Miss Parkinson was also at Malfoy Manor awaiting him.   
  
"Mr. Malfoy. How wonderful to have the pleasure of your company once more." She said demurely, curtsying.   
  
"How wonderful it is for you to stay with us." Draco forced his features into a smile, taking her hand. "I know it must have been a tiring journey for you as well, although one could never tell if had affected your beauty in any way." That much was true. Pansy looked remarkably like a pug no matter how she tried to flatter herself.   
  
Pansy blinked as Draco smiled, then shrieked loudly. "Your teeth, Mr. Malfoy!"  
  
Draco blinked, then closed his mouth. He had forgotten the incident with the inked tea. Damn Pansy's eyes, and the Weasleys as well.

"Draco, dear, what on earth happened?" His mother asked, her nose wrinkling as if someone held something unpleasant beneath it.  
  
"Nothing, mother. But perhaps I should excuse myself. I would not wish to shock Miss Parkinson's sensibilities by stained teeth." He answered dryly.   
  
His mother frowned, but allowed him to leave, begging him to join them for dinner that evening. His father, thankfully, had been called to town on business. Draco didn't mind his absence in the least. Although he admired his father for his ruthlessness in most affairs, he wished he could have a bit more dispensation on his own behalf.   
  
He ordered a hot bath and locked himself away in his rooms, changing from his dusty traveling clothes into a robe as he waited for his water. Long fingers brushed the delicate strands of hair from his eyes as he remembered Potter's smug look as Draco had left the large salon at Hogwarts. He ran his tongue delicately over his teeth, tasting the ink that stained them still. A smirk played over his features. As humiliating as the experience had been, at least the prank had proved useful in excusing him from polite company.   
  
The water arrived and he stripped quickly, settling himself in the tub and eagerly, and liberally, applying soap to his skin. Potter's face invaded his mind. And worse, memories of the other man pressed against him, muscled and fleshed, as they rolled to the bottom of the hill. God. Potter laying on top of him. Draco groaned, rubbing furiously at the tired muscles of his body. Even innocent memories like the way Potter looked bent over a billiards table, or flushing like a schoolboy under Draco's gaze while Miss Weasley performed in the next room. The more he remembered his time with Harry, the harder he rubbed his skin, leaving large patches of red contrasting with pale cream.   
  
His servant assisted him, dumping a pitcher of hot water over his shoulders and back. Draco closed his eyes as the suds were washed from his body. He remembered other things too. Potter's incredible innocence. His stupid bravery, challenging Draco to a billiards match. The warm emotion and confusion contained in those emerald orbs as Draco was pressed against him during their moonlit dance. Most of all, he recalled the resentment and utter hatred on his features that afternoon on the hill.   
  
It was this last, painful memory, that had kept Draco behind his façade their last nights at Hogwarts. A Malfoy was not used to being contradicted, nor scorned. Draco dismissed his servant, rising out of the steaming tub to dry himself, pulling the thin cotton robe closer. A Malfoy was not used to being rejected by anyone, male or female. Power and reputation went beyond the bounds of scandal.   
  
It was this complete inability to understand scorn that had led Draco to his confession in the letter he left for Potter. If Potter was determined to reject him, he would know damn well what he was rejecting. It was a desperate need for understanding that compelled Draco to write. But he knew, even as his quill scratched against the parchment, that Potter would not be swayed.   
  
And that finality left Draco feeling shameful of his own lusts and overtures. He moved to the mirror, combing out his fine hair and studying his reflection. He had not Potter's expressive eyes, his own being rather too small to express anything but displeasure. His lips also were too thin, by his standards, and thinned considerably when he was upset, making his angular features look pinched. Lovers of his, all male, had called him 'delicate,' a thought which unnerved him. Potter, on the other hand, was the epitome of male strength.   
  
He felt another stab of lust at the memory of the dark haired male, his knuckles going white as he gripped the comb painfully. _There must be some release_, Draco thought. "I will conquer this." He said, gritting his teeth. "I must conquer this."

~_~_~

The days at the Burrow passed lazily for Harry. The entire household was furiously preparing for the wedding, which was going to be held on July 1st. The announcement appeared in the papers and much to Harry's amusement, they mentioned Miss Granger's connection with the Malfoy family. He wondered vaguely if that was on Draco's insistence or Mrs. Weasley's. The pressure of marrying Ginny aside, he was content to spend his days in her company. Unfortunately, Ron gave him seemingly supportive grins that made him want to groan every time he spoke to Miss Weasley. He pretended to be oblivious to them.   
  
A fortnight into his stay, he received a reply from Sirius and Remus. He excused himself from breakfast, eager to hear news from home.   
  
_Dear Harry,  
  
I hope this letter finds you in excellent health at the Burrow. The Weasleys are so kind to let you stay with them. Send them our fondest wishes, especially towards Mister Ron Weasley and Miss Granger. I am sure the household is bus_tling with preparations. As for Godric's Hollow, things are quiet without your presence. Of course, they are generally quiet even with your presence. The servants all send their affections, accompanied by those of myself and Remus of course.   
  
This Mr. Ma_lfoy you write of seems to be one of those notorious snobs one occasionally encounters in the aristocracy. I myself have never met the family, but by your description, I pray I never have to. The gentleman is too proud, to be sure. I am sure you are happil_y parted from him. Perhaps you will be lucky to avoid his acquaintance in the future, with exception to the wedding itself, of course.   
  
Please write when you have a moment, as Remus is dreadfully anxious for you. I myself, am sure that you are happy and _never worry but for a moment. Enjoy your holiday, Harry. We shall be happily reunited in the fall.   
  
Yours, etc.  
  
Sirius Black_  
  
Harry folded the letter, musing. Happy indeed to be parted with Draco Malfoy, although he would return in less than a month. It was hard for Harry to believe that it had been two weeks already since they had parted company. It seemed at once to be two months and two days. Unconsciously, he drifted from the window of the parlor to the small pianoforte that Ginny used. Carefully plunking out a tune, he was startled to find himself playing the Mozart melody Ginny had performed at Draco's request.   
  
His fingers stilled and he closed his eyes, remembering Ginny's sweet voice and the intense look on Malfoy's face as the pale eyes burned into his very soul. He opened his eyes again and looked out the window, his mind caught in memory.   
  
Draco, eyeing him from across the billiards table, fine features lightened by a smile as Harry glared in his direction. The haunting appearance of the man as he played in the Grand Ballroom, late at night. The intensity in his eyes as he pulled Harry close to him in the Waltz, and the easy surrender as Harry took the lead. The dazed look on his face as they landed at the bottom of the hill, incredulous at Ron's accusations. Pride. Spite. Hate. The sickeningly superior smirk that had appeared, surprisingly cruel after so much kindness. Malfoy as Harry had last seen him, formal and stiff even with a childhood friend, the exterior as indifferent as a mask.   
  
He placed his face against the cool glass, one arm against the wooden frame as he leaned. Happy indeed to be parted. But Hermione's words resonated within him. Harry believed wholeheartedly in her goodness, just as he believed wholeheartedly in Malfoy's arrogance. Was there more to Draco Malfoy? In the two weeks since their parting, Harry had been resolved to think no more of him, a resolution that he was frequently breaking.   
  
"Mr. Potter?" Miss Weasley's voice called him from his thoughts and he straightened, turning around.   
  
She smiled at him, blushing slightly at having interrupted his privacy. "Ron and I were going to walk towards town. My Aunt and Uncle have invited us for tea." She hesitated a moment before continuing, "Would you do us the honor of accompanying us? My brother wishes to acquaint you with our more distant relations."  
  
The green eyes blinked, startled. Harry glowered internally at Ron. Damn the man. He was not going to make this easy on him. Well, it was time to tell Miss Weasley his true feelings.   
  
"I'd be delighted, Miss Weasley." He carefully tucked the letter away as she turned to leave and halted her progress. "Would you stay for just a moment, Miss Weasley? There is a matter I would like to discuss with you."   
  
She blushed and closed the door to the parlor before moving towards him. "O-of course, Mr. Potter." Her eyes were bright and her voice was breathy at Harry's tone.  
  
"I am honored by the connection between our families, Miss Weasley," he began slowly. "Your brother Ron is the dearest friend I have in the world, and I truly consider you all to be dearer to me than my actual relations." He smiled at her, taking her hand. "In situations such as these one is compelled to act under obligation. And although I am fond of you, Miss Weasley, I must decline. I am very sensible of the honor a connection between us would bestow upon me, but I cannot in good faith or conscious apply for such a connection."   
  
He saw her blink, possibly attempting to fight an emotional response and act rationally. When Harry was about six, his cousin Dudley had made him watch while he tortured a chicken, ripping off it's limbs and head. The bird was still alive, and Harry had had nightmares about its shrieks as it was torn to pieces. Ginny's small sniffle and repression of emotion now made him feel very much like his cousin. "It is this relation between our families which makes me unable to tell this to Ron, or even your mother. You all have been so kind to me."  
  
"T-thank you for your honesty, Mr. Potter." She retracted her hand and turned, stiffly, making her way to the door. "You can rest assured I will tell not a soul about this conversation." She gathered herself and left his company quickly.  
  
Harry cursed himself. He was truly the lowest of the low, no better than his cousin, hurting an innocent creature like Miss Weasley. Turning again to the window, he sighed, praying that he would have the strength to see her look at him, her pretty brown eyes filled with hurt. The look on her face reminded him of the look on Draco's when Harry had insulted him. Harry sighed miserably.   
  
It was going to be a long summer at the Burrow. 


	6. Tarantella

_Author's Notes:_ I know this is quick . . . but, the muses blessed me. Erm, well, kept me up half the night until I wrote this out, at least. I'm going to be in the process of moving from Wisconsin to California and taking Finals (that and my Beta is going on vacation) so bear with me. Thanks! I hope everyone's still enjoying it as we move into the slashier stage.

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Façade

Chapter Six

Tarantella

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

The day of the wedding finally arrived. Harry spent most of the morning helping Ron to be sick over the washbasin.   
  
"Oh, God . . . I can't do this, Harry. All those people. . ." His friend keeled over, dry heaving after having already wretched his entire breakfast.   
  
Harry leaned over, dabbing at Ron's forehead with a damp cloth. "You're not doing this for the people, Ron. You're doing this for Hermione. Just remember that."  
  
"Hermione . . .Oh God . . ."   
  
There was a knock at the door, followed by a cheery voice, "Hello? Ron you in there?"  
  
Harry left his friend and walked to the door, seeing Charlie there, dressed in full dress regimentals, he smiled. "Hello, Charlie. Ron's a bit. . . under the weather at the moment."   
  
Charlie grinned, good humor sparkling in his blue eyes. "Been retching his lungs out all morning, has he?"  
  
Harry laughed, backing away from the door to let Charlie enter.  
  
"He's always been like this. Poor thing." Charlie stood next to Ron, patting his back softly. "Ever since he was little. The moment he gets stressed-Whoosh! There goes his breakfast."  
  
"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Ron growled.  
  
"Come on, little brother. It's time for you to get married." Charlie laughed again.  
  
Ron swallowed, his face so pale that his freckles looked like dots of fresh paint on a plain canvas, but he stood bravely, biting his lower lip as he straightened his jacket. "Coming, Harry?"   
  
"Just let me clean up here. Don't worry, I wouldn't miss this for the world, my friend." Harry smiled supportively and Ron attempted to grin back, looking more like he was wincing in pain.  
  
"Right then, let's go." Charlie let Ron head down the stairs first, ready to give chase if Ron decided to bolt at the last second.   
  
Harry smiled as the brotherly banter that followed them down the stairs and rinsed out the basin before leaving the small bedroom, trailing behind them.   
  
"Hermione, dearest, you look lovely." Draco's soft tenor intoned gently. Harry paused on the landing to the second floor, a familiar voice halting his progress.  
  
Hermione's voice answered, obviously pleased. "Thank you, Draco. Be a dear and help me fix my hair? These damn curls."   
  
"Yes, dear." Draco's masculine chuckle sent shivers down Harry's spine. Harry suddenly felt panicked. He wasn't ready to face Draco yet. He had convinced himself that he could face Malfoy when he saw him. But hearing him . . . Harry felt his hard-won resolve disappear.  
  
"Thank you. I am so pleased you could make it. Are mother and father here as well?"  
  
"Of course. You don't think I'd allow them to miss their only daughter's wedding, now do you?"   
  
"Thank you so much for accompanying them down. I get so worried. I mean, they're getting on in years, you know."  
  
"They're perfectly fine, Hermione. Will you relax?"   
  
It was Hermione's turn to chuckle "And how about you? You're wound tighter than a harp string." Her tone became slightly more teasing as she continued. "I don't suppose that has anything to do with a certain Mr. Potter, now does it?"  
  
Harry gasped, his hand gripping the railing tight, not only with the shock of being mentioned by name, but being mentioned in such a way. Suddenly his conversation with Miss Granger made all the more sense. Miss Granger was Malfoy's confidant, and he had confided in her his opinion of Harry.   
  
Draco laughed, hollowly. "Ah, my dear. I am going to miss having you as my confessor."   
  
"It'll be all right, Draco, love. He is not as immune to your charms as you might think."  
  
"Whatever gives you that idea?" Draco seemed genuinely confused.   
  
"Call it woman's intuition."  
  
"Mmm." Draco paused, his next words spoken in a strained tone of voice. "God, he's got this hollow at the base of his throat . . . I just want to cover it in honey and lick it off, inch by inch..."  
  
Harry could feel his cheeks flush and he closed his eyes against the suggestible image. The blond's head poised above him, eyes darkened with desire. His blood pulsed heavily between his ears, and between his legs. It was the most erotic suggestion Harry had ever heard. And the fact that it was about him, and Malfoy, was nearly too much for him to bear. He licked his suddenly dry lips, praying to any god that would listen to allow Malfoy that opportunity at some point in the future.   
  
Hermione only chuckled. "Well, how do I look?"  
  
"Like an angel. Ron is getting the better end of the bargain by half, you know."   
  
"Do go on, Draco. Now, lead me downstairs. And try not to stare at Mr. Potter too much during the ceremony. You know how Mummy and Dad feel about your . . . tastes."  
  
"I would never shame you, dear heart."  
  
Harry forced himself to continue down the stairs, not wanting Draco to know he had eavesdropped. It was already too much to know Draco's feelings about him went beyond admiration to physical desire. His own reaction to the image of himself covered in honey as Draco lapped at his throat was unmistakable, and as much a shock as it was a relief. As such, he missed Draco's last reply.  
  
"...but Harry is more than just a taste, or a conquest." He paused, his tone becoming almost sad. "I feel he could be the very death of me."

  
~_~_~

  
Ron, despite his worriedness, went through the ceremony with confidence, holding Hermione's hand like a lifeline. She was, as Draco had mentioned, absolutely breathtaking in her bridal gown. Ron's eyes had goggled for a moment or two and Hermione smiled, bringing her gloved hand up to gently close her husband's mouth.   
  
After the ceremony, Harry led the gathered assembly in a toast to the bride and groom. As Ron and Hermione were inundated by congratulations, Harry stood off to one side, sipping some sherry. He felt, rather more than heard, Draco move to stand next to him. Ever since he had overheard Malfoy's conversation with Hermione, he had felt Malfoy's eyes on him acutely. Several times during the ceremony Harry had raised his eyes, only to find Malfoy staring at him intensely, making Harry flush. He gripped the stem of his glass tightly as he inclined his head, fighting to make his voice as controlled as possible.  
  
"Malfoy."   
  
Draco smirked, arching a brow. "Potter."  
  
Harry struggled not to meet Draco's piercing gaze, inclining his head instead towards the decanter. "Fancy a drink?" He held up his own glass, surprised it did not tremble.   
  
"As long as it's not tea, thank you." Draco replied smoothly.   
  
Harry laughed awkwardly, unnerved by Malfoy's confidence but at the same time, grateful for his ease with social graces. "Only sherry, I'm afraid."  
  
"Marvelous." Draco took the proffered glass, taking a long sip and keeping his gaze on the dark haired man.  
  
Harry glanced nervously at Ron and Hermione, lost in their own world as they fed each other bits of cake. "They look so happy together, don't they?"   
  
Draco followed his gaze, his eyes narrowing somewhat before he turned them back to Harry. "Ah. Yes, well, Weasley couldn't be luckier."  
  
"You sound jealous." Harry sipped lightly, taking in the deep green of Draco's coat. How the man managed even in the simplest of garments to look resplendent was beyond Harry. He felt shabby and underdressed in his own plain coat, indigo long faded from wear.  
  
"Not hardly, Potter. I merely look after the people who are important to me." Draco eyed Harry right back, studying him over the rim of his glass as he took a drink. Potter was wearing a simple blue coat, but Draco couldn't help noticing how it clung to his upper body like a second skin, bulging around formed biceps and broad shoulders. He shivered slightly with the image of contained power. He remembered being in those arms. At the moment he would kill to be in them again.  
  
Harry tilted his head, wondering about the implications of Draco's statement, but not prepared to analyze them. He directed the conversation instead to a neutral topic."You have yet to speak to Miss Weasley."  
  
Draco shrugged, content for the moment to follow Harry's lead. His eyes kept their intensity, however. "There seems little point in doing so now. She is rather entangled in conversation with one of the officers." He inclined his head slightly.   
  
"What? Who?" Harry spun around to where Malfoy had nodded, watching Ginny smile coyly with one of the Regimental officers he didn't recognize. He frowned.  
  
"Now who's jealous?" Draco's voice was teasing, but there was a timbre of seriousness within it.

Harry swallowed. "Not jealous. Relieved." He sighed heavily, cracking a smile. "Perhaps Ron will cease dropping hints about proposing now."   
  
Draco blinked, relief flowing through his frame as well. He smiled wryly. "Ah, yes. Marriage. It is, after all, common knowledge that a single man of good fortune must be in want of a wife."  
  
Harry shared the grin, meeting Draco's gaze with delight. As their eyes met he flushed, becoming suddenly nervous again and eager to direct the conversation away from the personal. "My Godfather escaped." Harry laughed softly, darting his eyes to the side. "Perhaps I should ask him how. He and Remus both."   
  
Draco's brow raised again. "Remus?"   
  
"Remus Lupin, my Godfather's friend. He lives with us at Godric's Hollow."  
  
"I see." Draco seemed suspicious about something, but Harry pushed that observation aside, continuing.   
  
"They are most particularly attached to one another." Harry laughed. "I doubt they spend more than a few days out of each other's company."  
  
Draco arched a brow. "Really? How extraordinary."  
  
"Yes. I always wondered how they could stand being with each other like that. I mean, Ron's my best friend but even I get tired of him every now and then."  
  
"Perhaps they are . . . closer . . . than you and Ron are." Draco's voice was heavy with insinuation.  
  
"That much seems true." Harry frowned, insight dawning upon him. "Wait, Malfoy-are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"  
  
Draco lowered his eyes to his drink, his voice a dangerous purr. "Two men, single, living with one another. Close friends, very attached." The blue gaze lifted to meet his own. "What do you think I am suggesting, Potter?"  
  
Harry swallowed, blinking in disbelief. "Sirius . . . he would have told me if that was the case. It can't be."  
  
"Oh, yes. Every godfather wants to tell his impressionable young godson who happens to be rather good looking with good prospects that he is a sodomite." Draco's smirk broadened as Harry paled.  
  
"Oh, God... It all makes sense now." He suddenly felt like he needed some air, but as he was already outside, he doubted it would have made any difference.   
  
Draco laughed. "There, there, Potter. No need to cry. Here, have some more sherry." He refilled Potter's glass, studying his face intently.   
  
Harry blinked, slightly surprised at Draco's concern. "Thank you."  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
Harry sipped at his sherry for a moment before venturing, "About your letter-"  
  
Draco interrupted quickly. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't discuss that at this particular moment."  
  
Harry blinked. "Oh?"  
  
The blond squared his shoulders. "I do have a reputation to uphold, Potter. But, I will say this. As it is his wedding day, a day no man should have to look poorly in front of his wife, I will refrain from my comments towards Weasley."  
  
"How kind of you." Harry answered, dryly.  
  
"I ask something in return, though."   
  
Harry blinked in astonishment. "From me?"   
  
"You don't think I'm going to ask something from Weasley, do you?" Draco snorted.  
  
"I suppose not." Harry eyed him suspiciously. "What do you want?"  
  
Draco took a deep breath before responding, seeming to gather his thoughts. "The Grangers and I are departing tomorrow for Lambton." He lifted his eyes to meet Harry's. "All I ask is that you come with us."  
  
Harry gawked. "You want me to go to Lambton?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Harry studied Draco. "For how long?"  
  
Draco shrugged. "Oh, I dare say a fortnight might be long enough."  
  
"Why are you asking me this?" Harry frowned, suspicion creeping in.  
  
"You know, I honestly couldn't tell you." Harry blinked at such a candid response, but continued frowning.  
  
"Where would I stay? I hardly know the Grangers."  
  
"There is a comfortable enough Inn in town. Though, you are also welcome as my guest at Malfoy Manor."  
  
Harry considered this, his heart pounded in his chest. As much as it seemed like a simple contract, he knew it to be much more. His tongue flicked out, whetting his lips nervously as he returned Malfoy's gaze. At length, he replied. "Very well, then. I accept but, you had better keep to your half of the bargain, Malfoy."  
  
Draco gave a broad grin, "I always keep my word, Potter."

  
~_~_~

  
Explaining to Ron exactly why he had agreed to accompany Malfoy was one of the more difficult moments of Harry's life. After the reception, he pulled Ron aside in the South parlor.   
  
"But. . . but why, Harry? I know you despise him as much as I do." Ron's face was aghast.   
  
Harry dared not meet his eyes, keeping them downcast as he responded somewhat meekly. "He invited me, Ron. You know that to decline any polite invitation is simply out of the question." Well, that was what Harry comforted himself with, at least. The true answer, that he Malfoy's invitation was also a challenge that he felt compelled to answer, lay buried inside him.   
  
"Of course, but. . . Malfoy?" Ron seemed stuck on that particular concept. Harry would have found it amusing, had he not been the one trying to persuade his friend. He knew were he in Ron's shoes he would find it hard to believe as well. Harry couldn't explain why he had accepted Malfoy's invitation, nor why he insisted upon going whether Ron approved or not. Of course, he would like to know he had Ron's approval just the same.   
  
"It'll only be a fortnight, Ron. It'll be nice for you and Hermione to have some time alone." Harry continued. "You know that I love your family but, at the same time, you are my best friend. It's not going to be the same now that you're a married man."   
  
Ron smiled somewhat sympathetically, "I do understand that, mate. It'll be nice to have some time alone with Hermione, but still-a fortnight with that little wanker! How are you going to manage not to strangle the ferret?"   
  
Harry laughed, smiling back. "I suppose I shall have to endure it as best I can." Harry knew that he would have to endure Malfoy. He would have to endure his looks, his presence, his eyes. He would have to endure the arrogant smirk upon delicate features. He would have to endure the knowledge that Malfoy wanted to do incredibly erotic things to his body, and even more shamefully, that Harry wanted him to.   
  
"Right you are, Harry. You know what, though? There's one thing that doesn't make sense." Ron frowned.  
  
"What's that?"   
  
"Why would he invite you in the first place?"   
  
Harry shrugged, looking back down at his hands. "I don't know." He lifted his eyes to meet Ron's with a determined gaze. "But, I intend to find out."  



	7. By the Lake

_Title: _Façade   
_Author:_ Malfoi ( shindemo_ii@yahoo.com )   
_Category: _Romance/Humor/AU   
_Keywords: _Slash, Harry, Draco, Jane Austen, Alternate Universe   
_Rating:_ R   
_Spoilers: _Books 1-4  
_Disclaimer: _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. In other words, the characters aren't mine . . .but the situations I put them in sure are. 

_Author's Notes:_ Beta'd by Obscurus, coded by Rina Garet, and a big thanks to my new Gamma Heidi. Thus I shall be improving by leaps and bounds, ne? ;) One could only hope. After all this work I hope this chapter is worth it. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

Façade 

Chapter Seven 

By the Lake 

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_ 

The Lambton party departed from the Burrow at dawn, as Lambton was a goodly distance. Hermione was tearful as she embraced Draco and her parents. When the new Mrs. Weasley wished Harry good journey she gave him a sly smile that was unnerving to some degree. Although Harry was moving closer to admitting his feelings about Malfoy to himself, having another person know about them was something else altogether. Hermione's comment to Draco about being able to tell Harry's feelings for Draco made him acutely aware of his every action towards Malfoy in her company. He stayed by Ron's side as the carriage was loaded, and as the Grangers paid their compliments to the elder Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Malfoy turned to the younger. 

"My compliments to your family, Weasley," Draco said, with great condescension. 

Ron eyed Malfoy with clear disdain, allowing the blonde to take his leave without insult. Now that he and Hermione were lawfully wedded, Ron was much more secure with himself around Draco, even if his dislike for the man would probably never lessen past animosity. 

Harry embraced Ron as a brother, waiting until the other three passengers had boarded before taking his leave. "Don't miss me too badly, dear friend," he said. "You've got a new wife to take care of."

Ron nodded, but smiled. "Don't you worry about me, mate," he winked conspiratorially. "I shall take good care of my wife," he added with some pride, wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist. She smiled fondly up at him and then turned her gaze past Harry, to Draco in the carriage as if to warn him to keep his snide comments to himself. 

Harry smiled Hermione's warning and glanced over his shoulder, meeting Malfoy's gaze and holding it for an extended moment, adding his own thinly veiled threat to the blonde should he wish to stir trouble with Ron. Malfoy arched a brow as if to say 'Oh really?' before breaking the stare with a shrug and engaging the Grangers in conversation. 

Harry turned back to Ron and nodded grimly. "If you don't hear from me in a fortnight assume that I committed suicide rather than bear two weeks in his company," he said, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Ron laughed and Harry grinned wryly before he climbed into the carriage, and seated himself next to Malfoy, who, if he had heard Harry's parting comment, gave no inclination. He waved to Ron, who signaled the driver, and they were off. 

~_~_~

The Grangers, Harry observed, were a pleasant enough couple to converse with on any subject and, to Harry's great surprise, they seemed quite at ease in Draco's company. More surprising still was the fact that Draco seemed to enjoy their company equally well, smiling and making jokes with Mr. Granger, as well as taking great enjoyment in his attempts to make Mrs. Granger blush. 

Harry watched in silence, angling himself in the corner of the seat in order to see Malfoy interact with the Grangers. Draco would often glance at Harry, giving him a disconcerting smile that seemed to imply secret meaning between Harry and himself. 

At some point the Grangers decided to nap, leaving Draco and Harry relatively alone. Harry shifted in his seat self consciously, looking at his hands. Draco seemed content to stare out the window at the landscape. 

"Have you ever been to Derbyshire, Potter?" Draco ventured at last.

"I'm afraid I have not had that pleasure, no," Harry replied, his curiosity at this attempt at conversation piqued.

"Oh? Where is your family from, again?" Draco had a way, Harry noticed, of getting rather personal information out without seeming intimate. He wondered vaguely where he had picked up that skill.

"Godric's Hollow, up north," Harry answered. "Although, I spent the majority of my youth in Surrey."

"Ah, that explains your manner of speech. You lack a Northern accent." 

"I was educated in London, as well, but I have been told my true accent appears when I am passionate," Harry admitted.

A smile curved Draco's lips. "Passion reveals all, Potter."

Harry blinked at that comment and eyed Draco, who inexplicably flushed before looking out the window.

"I expect to arrive at Lambton before sunset. The Grangers live halfway between the Inn I mentioned earlier and the Manor," he stated rather hastily. "I hope I don't ask too much to press your decision on where to stay."

"Oh, quite understandable." Harry paused, considering. "I don't wish to cause the Grangers to wait for me while I unpack," he said hesitantly. "Perhaps I can trespass on your hospitality at least for the night. If it becomes too much to ask I can always move to the Inn."

"Of course, Potter." 

Slightly before dusk the carriage pulled up in front of a modest house. Harry smiled at it, noting it's comfortable nature, even if it was not the largest of accommodations. It suited Hermione very well. 

Draco smiled fondly at the sight of the Granger home. "I remember the first time Hermione slapped me-by that tree over there," he pointed to a large chestnut tree with a self-depreciating grin. "We were about 13, I think. I had told her that she shouldn't be allowed to climb trees because she was a girl. I was rather full of myself at that age, feeling I could dictate everyone's lives by virtue of my name."

Harry arched a brow. "And how have you changed, exactly?"

Malfoy returned the look with a quirky grin and a chuckle "In any case, she slapped me hard across the face and told me that if I ever dared dictate to her what she could and could not do I would find myself stuffed with chestnuts in the most unmentionable of locations," he laughed, and Harry was surprised to note how infectious the sound was. 

Their merriment was interrupted by the Grangers taking their leave, very politely, and wishing Harry an enjoyable stay. They extended to him an invitation, but he declined it, just as politely, stating he was going to be Draco's guest. They smiled and bid them both good night, and the carriage rolled on.

As it grew darker, Harry grew more uncomfortable with Draco sitting beside him. Malfoy had insolently stretched his legs across the carriage, resting his finely polished boots on the seat opposite them. His right hand gently caressed the leather seat between their bodies.

"Are we far from Malfoy Manor?" he asked at last, after they had driven what seemed like miles through trees.

Draco laughed. "These trees and grounds belong to the Manor, Potter," he stretched lazily and stifled a yawn. "But I imagine we'll be arriving at the house shortly."

Harry turned back towards the window, watching the great manor come into view on Draco's command. In the darkening twilight the house looked foreboding, almost malevolent. The carriage pulled up in the front park and Harry climbed down from the carriage, glad to stretch his legs and arms after the long hours of confined travel. 

"Welcome home, Master Malfoy." Harry looked up to see a manservant approaching them. 

Draco eyed him coolly as he descended from the carriage. "Where is my mother, Peeves?"

The servant bowed. "Lady Narcissa is in the drawing room with Miss Parkinson, awaiting your return, sir." His voice was raspy, as if he had not had occasion to use it for a long time. 

"Fine. Take my belongings to my room and put Mr. Potter's trunk in the Green Bedroom in the East wing, " Draco ordered. "We shall join my Mother shortly."

"Yes, Master Malfoy." The servant scuttled off and Harry blinked after him.

Turning to Draco, he inquired about Miss Parkinson.

Draco sighed, "I suppose you'd have to find out eventually . . . Miss Pansy Parkinson is my intended, so to speak. Her mother and my mother have wanted to get us married since we were both in our cradles. Unfortunately for her, I have no inclination to marry." 

Harry absorbed the small admission he willingly gave, noting that their situations were similar in some ways. He wondered if Miss Parkinson would be as accommodating to Draco as Miss Weasley had been to himself. 

The entrance to Malfoy Manor was as impressive as the exterior of the house itself. Harry felt slightly intimidated by the wealth and permanence of the objects around him, his own wealth being so new. It was also less personal, in a way. The house bespoke the motto: it matters not who you are, so long as you are a Malfoy. After your death, another Malfoy will take your place, and so on, and so on.

Harry followed Draco through the halls to the Drawing Room. Inside was a woman who'se hair identified her irrefutably to be Draco's mother. Her platinum blonde tresses were tightly pulling back, making the strong features of her face appear strained and taunt. She eyed Harry with obvious surprise, and contempt. Beside her was a girl. At least, Harry assumed that the form wearing a dark dress was a girl. Her nose was so upturned that had Harry believed in magic he would have thought her to have been a dog badly transfigured into a human. 

"Draco, my son. So happy to have you home," Narcissa cooed. She eyed Harry again, obviously waiting to be introduced to the stranger.

Draco embraced his mother and inclined his head to Miss Parkinson before replying. "Mother, Miss Parkinson, allow me to present Mr. Harry Potter."

"Potter?" Narcissa wrinkled her nose. "The name is not familiar to me. Although, I did hear of a Potter once who ran off with a girl far below his class." She laughed haughtily. "The great irony of it being that they died tragically. But of course, we all get what we deserve in the end."

Harry seethed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "A pleasure, Lady Narcissa," he ground out. Turning to Pansy, he bowed, "Miss Parkinson. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance in town."

"You would not have, Mr. Potter,." Narcissa's voice interrupted sharply. "Pansy dear is quite the delicate child,; her health keeping her from being presented."

Harry blinked, catching Draco's rolling of eyes behind his mother's back and stifled a smile. If Narcissa noticed, she made so sign of it, continuing instead on the subject of Pansy.

"Had her health not prevented her, she would have been the town's most shining jewel. Don't you agree, Draco?" 

_~_~_

The next day dawned sunny and clear. At breakfast, Draco barely addressed his mother or Miss Parkinson, much to Harry's surprise. At Harry's suggestion they departed quickly for the outdoors and a grand tour of the Malfoy estate. The morning was spent in the gardens, but as the weather grew warmer, Draco directed their path towards the lake, pointing out various trout streams and points of interest on the very extensive, and Harry had to admit, beautiful, Malfoy grounds. He followed his host silently, nodding when appropriate and absolutely sweltering in the sun's heat even in light summer trousers, waistcoat, and jacket. When they were beside the lake, a good distance away from the house, Malfoy turned around, cerulescent eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Up for a swim, Potter?" 

Harry blinked, the brilliant green gaze behind gold frames flickering towards the lake and then back at Malfoy. "In there?"

"Of course," he grinned, his tone turning mock-conspiratorial. "Isn't it rather suffocating in all these clothes?"

"B-but. . . your parents," Harry stammered, obviously put off-balance by the suggestion, "or Miss Parkinson." He glanced towards the manor itself and flushed. "What if they find us?"

Draco scoffed. "They're all getting cozy inside, I imagine-planning the wedding." His hands lifted and he tugged open his neckline, slender fingers dancing down the front of his jacket as he unbuttoned it. "Come on, Potter."

Harry flushed, turning his gaze away from Draco before mimicking his actions. Malfoy's invitation was as much a challenge as it was suggestion. Harry knew better than to back away from it as such. In a few minutes they were both stripped down to trousers. 

Draco tried not to let Harry catch his hungry stare as he watched the other man remove his clothing. Knowing that, if that particular train of thought continued, his trousers would seem considerably smaller in a matter of seconds, he made himself turn away, diving gracefully into the lake. The cool water shocked his system, but he lingered, submerged. Surfacing a few moments later, Draco gasped as he broke the water, his fine hair plastered to his forehead. He saw Potter on the shoreline and taunted. "What? Afraid of a little water?"

A muscle tightened in Harry's jaw. He had been so distracted, following the slim form underneath the water, he had quite forgotten to follow suit. He arched his brows innocently before responding. "That would defeat the purpose, Malfoy!" he called. 

Draco treaded water gracefully up to his neck, bobbing lightly. "What purpose would that be, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "Why that you've observed your form is most flattering while clothed in skin tight wet fabrics. I should stay here and enjoy the view when you emmerge."

Draco flushed, but he called back cheekily, "My form is always flattering, Potter. I hardly need to resort to such womanish tactics if I wanted to secure your attention."

Harry walked down the wooden dock slowly, seating himself on the end of it and lowering his legs to the water. "I suppose you're right about that," he said noncommittally. 

Draco swam over to Potter, floating in front of him. "You are afraid of the water, I think."

"Not at all." Harry kicked his left foot, splashing Draco.

"Then you've perhaps noticed how flattering it is to your form to be half naked and bronzing like a god.," Draco intoned susurrusly.

Harry flushed, causing the blond to grin. "Come on, Potter," he mock pouted. "I shall drown myself if you will not come in."

Harry scoffed, kicking his other foot and sending a spray of water in Draco's direction. "No." 

Draco pouted, then submerged. 

He did not reemerge for a long moment. Harry frowned, annoyed at Draco's jape . He waited patiently for the blonde head to reemerge, but seemingly in vain. As the seconds ticked by, Harry grew inexplicably worried and chided himself for his concern. After all, Ron would thank him profusely at having convinced Malfoy to drown himself. But perhaps it was not voluntary submersion . Perhaps he'd gotten caught on a weed or something underwater and was drowning on accident. He got to his knees, leaning far over the edge of the dock, peering in the cloudy water for Draco. 

He heard the splash before he ever saw the blonde ascend, quickly reaching out to grab Potter's arm. Draco tugged, pulling him towards the water. Off balance from leaning over the end, Harry fell in unceremoniously, sputtering as he broke to surface to Malfoy's hearty laugh. 

"You prat!" Harry gasped, flailing his arms helplessly. Luckily his glasses had not been knocked off, but they were spotted with water. Harry checked that they were securely behind his ears and peered through the drops at the blonde in front of him, grinning with satisfaction. 

Draco swam next to him, grinning. "Admit it, Potter. You are much more comfortable in the water." He laughed at the dark look Harry sent him.

"Very funny." 

"And here I thought you would jump at the opportunity to be half naked with me," Draco said slyly, swimming in a lazy circle around Harry. 

Harry flushed, rotating as he treaded water. "It's you who is eager to be half naked with me," he returned. "And as of yet I have not construed why."

Draco ceased his circling, moving towards Harry slowly. "Have you not, Potter? Perhaps you are a simpleton indeed," he said minaciously, a smirk curving his lips.

"At first you set yourself up as my rival," Harry continued, refusing to back down at Draco's menacing tone. "Do you deny it?"

The blonde lifted a hand, slicking his wet hair back from his face. "I have no wish to deny it. I rejoice in my success at flattering Miss Weasley and unnerving both yourself and the Weasel in one masterful stroke," he arched a brow challengingly. 

Harry frowned, his lips forming a thin hard line. "You find amusement in playing with a person's sentiments, Malfoy?"

Draco moved closer to Potter, noting how the dark haired man unconsciously retreated defensively. 

He kept Potter's gaze as he responded. "You, dear sir, are just as guilty as I of playing with a person's sentiments."

Harry flinched, guilt about Miss Weasley and the conversation in the parlor flooding him. He felt exposed under Draco's predatory gaze. "It was not my intent to deceive her," he said honestly.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "It was not Miss Weasley that I made reference to, Potter. Or do you believe sentiments are limited to the female sex?" He continued propelling Potter backwards. They were nearly against the wooden dock, hidden from the view of any onlookers. 

Harry flinched again, his own emotions feeling raw as Draco prodded him to painful admissions. "I never meant to deceive you," he whispered, his chest unbearably tight under the intensity of Draco's gaze. He gasped as he felt the wooden dock against his back and eyed Draco almost fearfully. 

"Have you deceived me?" He lifted his hand from the water and brought it to rest on Harry's flushed cheek, tracing a line down the curve of his jaw. Harry shivered under his touch but did not pull away. "Is the bright look in your eye a pretense of interest? If so, I must applaud you as a most credible actor." Draco said. 

"Malfoy" Harry began softly. The blonde's hand was cool against his heated skin. He watched with bated breath as Draco studied his face before bowing his head, pressing his lips tenitively against Harry's. 

He closed his eyes at the first touch of Draco's lips, incredibly smooth and cool against his own. He was not a stranger to kisses, although the few he had received had all been while he was heavily intoxicated and generally by a hostess seeking more than just a tip. Those kisses had been heavy, suffocating. Draco's touch was gentle, almost inquisitive. The kiss was a question, asked more clearly than could ever be rendered in speech, and Harry found himself replying 'Yes . . . oh please, yes . . .'

As Draco pulled away, Harry became acutely aware of the closeness of their bodies, the water rising and falling between them as they treaded water. He felt Draco's hand slide from his cheek to underneath his chin, tilting his face up to meet the piercing blue gaze.

"Was I deceived, Potter?" Draco asked softly.

Harry shook his head, not trusting himself to speak as of yet, wet hair sprinkling drops of water on Draco's skin. He reached out, matching Draco's intense gaze with one of his own, and ran his fingers lightly from the delicate throat down to below the water, stopping mid-chest, inwardly grinning as the blonde trembled under his touch. He pursed his lips, tasting Draco upon them. 

"The time for façades has passed, Draco," he said at last, "at least between us." Something flickered in his eye as he continued. "I believe that, for the world at least, a façade around us is just beginning." 


	8. Long Steel Grass

_Title: _Façade   
_Author:_ Malfoi ( shindemo_ii@yahoo.com )   
_Category: _Romance/Humor/AU   
_Keywords: _Slash, Harry, Draco, Jane Austen, Alternate Universe   
_Rating:_ R   
_Spoilers: _Books 1-4  
_Disclaimer: _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. In other words, the characters aren't mine . . .but the situations I put them in sure are. 

_Author's Notes:_ Finally beta'd and moved in! Hopefully forthcoming chapters will be closer together. Sorry these two took so long. I hope everyone's still interested and thank you to everyone who has reviewed Façade. I love you all. Big Thanks to Heidi, Obscurus, and Rina Garet, my three woman Façade Team. Woo!

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

Façade 

Chapter Seven 

Long Steel Grass 

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_ 

Harry awoke to knocking. 

"Come!" he managed to get out, somewhat sleepily. The knocking ceased and the door opened. 

Draco smirked in amusement at the command, but entered, fully dressed in a blue coat similar to the one Harry had first seen Draco in, matched with an elaborately embroidered waistcoat. Locking the door quietly behind him he walked towards the bed, saying nothing, but absorbing the sight that was sprawled before him. 

Harry lay in bed on his back, one arm underneath his pillow, cushioning his head. The other lay across his eyes, as if he were in denial that morning had come. The blanket had fallen halfway off the bed and now lay diagonally, covering Harry from navel downwards but leaving the broad expanse of chest, lightly dusted with hair, bare to Draco's sight.

He reached the foot of the bed and leaned casually on the bedpost, tilting his head. The blond quickly became absorbed in his favorite pastime of late: watching Harry. He fascinated Draco like no other man before. He had been infatuated any number of times, most of these infatuations had gone no further than Draco's silent admiration but, something in Harry dared Draco to go beyond, to speak. He felt compelled to push his interest's boundaries to the limit if only just to see his responses, he needed the challenge and enjoyed the confrontations that he instigated. There had been the dance with Ginny, made all the more enticing by the deadly glares sent from brilliant green eyes. Harry had countered with a rousing game of billiards, an incredibly rousing game of billiards, in Draco's opinion. 

He had been taken unawares by Harry's determination to find out his intentions but, he considered, it showed a devotion to his friends that was very pleasing. He in turn had surprised Potter when he talked Miss Weasley into singing the aria. His paramour's _expression when he understood the significance of the Mozart was something Draco deeply cherished. Harry was so delightful when unbalanced, like when Harry's breath hitched for a brief moment during the moonlight dance they shared. The satisfaction Draco gained from triumphing over Harry in a game-like setting was addicting. Harry's hesitance to oppose Draco was almost as intriguing as his refusal to back down, and made Draco's victory all the more sweet. 

He stood there, musing, for he knew not how long. Draco was interrupted by a soft grunt as Harry moved, sat up and reached for his glasses. Rubbing his eyes sleepily he brushed his characteristically messy hair out of his eyes with a hand. He yawned and blinked slowly as his eyes adjusted to the bright morning light. 

"No need to wake up on my account, Potter. I was quite enjoying the view." Draco said, his voice low and husky with a slight hint of amusement. 

Harry looked up quickly, but was not surprised that his host was standing before him. Draco had woken him up the past few mornings in the same manner, knocking loudly until Harry was awake enough to bid him enter and saying not a word until Harry had sat up and put on his glasses. Some part of Harry theorized that Draco did so intentionally so that he would be the first thing that Harry saw in the morning. 

Harry smiled good naturedly. "Can't understand why. The landscape is rather dull, you know, and far too brown to be in good taste." Draco arched a brow and Harry continued. "Myself, I prefer a much more golden landscape, bathed in light."

Draco seated himself on Harry's bed and reached out, gently tracing his scar with a forefinger. "Ah, but my landscape is unique, not to be found anywhere. There are virtues buried deep, hidden from immediate sight that are revealed only through emerald pools." 

Harry drew a breath as Draco's finger made its way down the side of his face and to his lips, where it lingered, tracing the full lower lip before falling to the side. 

"You are too beautiful by half, Harry," Draco said honestly. 

"And you are far too generous in your poetics." Harry cracked a smile and returned the seaching look on Draco's face. "What have you got planned for me today?"

Draco's hand was making a slow progression over sleep warmed skin, inching towards the flat and muscled stomach. "Mother and Pansy are calling on the Goyles today. I declined to tag along. Father is still away, on business with Lord Voldemort." 

  
Harry felt his heart rate speed up at the soft touch, his throat going dry. "And where does that leave us?"

Draco blinked innocently. "Us? Why, alone for the day, I suppose. . . And I personally have no qualms about spending it all here with you in this bed."

Harry smiled. "You will not tire of me?"

"Oh, I will tire from you, Potter." Draco smirked. "With any luck you shall tire from me as well."

Harry flushed. There had been a few kisses and touches since that day be the lake, but nothing beyond that. Harry was not entirely sure that he was ready for anything beyond that but, when Draco touched him or looked at him, suddenly he felt beyond ready, even impatient, for the continued exploration of their bodies. This kind of relationship he had never imagined possible with a woman, much less a man. The realization of this other option, a natural extension of his esteem and admiration for men that had always existed within him had been sudden and somewhat alarming. Although he was lacking experience in the physical facet of relationships, he knew Draco would not pressure him. Whenever he appeared uneasy with anything, Draco brushed off the offending suggestion with a smile and a reassurance of Harry's control in the relationship. However, with Draco's hand now on his thigh, he didn't feel much in control of anything.

"Is that so? Well I may not know much but, I do believe you are quite overdressed for such an event. Perhaps I could help you, there?" The green eyes flashed with good humor and desire as Harry gently undressed Draco, watching with curiosity at the pleasure Draco gained from the touch of his hands, nearly shivering although he was far from cold. 

Draco moved forward, straddling Harry's legs, his breeches taut across slim hips. As his chest was revealed Harry's lips curved into a grin. Draco loved that grin. It was completely unselfconscious, and it assured Draco that Harry did indeed enjoy his body, despite the uncertainty that crept into his countenance. He ran his hands down Harry's arms, his hair falling forward into his face as he tipped Harry's face up to meet his gaze.

Harry smiled, his hands coming to rest on Draco's hips as he pushed the coat shirt, and waistcoat off the slim form. Draco's weight was comfortable and becoming familiar, as these wake up calls of Draco's had a tendency to lead them both back to bed. Harry didn't really know why the blond bothered getting dressed at all. Harry tilted his head back as Draco nuzzled his throat. "Draco. . ."

"Mmph?" The blond was busy in his attentions and Harry smiled in pleasure, before trying to focus his thoughts once more.

"Don't you want to take advantage of our privacy?" Harry breathed.

"I thought I was?" Draco eased Harry to lay back against the pillows, stretching out on top of the other boy, making a diligent effort to explore the oft admired hollow of Harry's throat.

Harry groaned softly. "Indeed, but . . . is there nothing you wish to show me now that your mother and fiancée are away?"

Draco raised his head, ceasing his exploration, his _expression sharply annoyed. "Potter-Harry, if you want me to stop then state as much."

Harry sighed. "It's not so much that I wish you to stop . . . only that it would be, well, nice to be outside with you and not to fear discovery." His countenance was intense yet wistful as he raised his eyes almost shyly. "Not be conscious of every glance between us."

The blue eyes softened and Harry found himself the recipient of a very tender kiss. "Harry Potter, you're either a romantic . . ." another soft kissed bestowed affectionately, the smile shifting into a playful smirk ". . . or an exhibitionist." Harry flushed and Draco snickered softly, "I can't decide which prospect excites me more."

Harry blinked up at him. "Exhibitionist, you think? I do believe you were the one who stripped yourself of your clothing within the first 24 hours of my stay here."

Draco smiled. "I got you to join me."

"Indeed."

"And it was you who made the first flirtatious remark."

Harry shifted his weight under Draco, his fingers combing through the fine hair. "There is a stubbornness in me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others," he said, musingly. "My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me." 

Draco smirked, the left side of his mouth curving upwards as he rolled off Harry, stretching out beside him and stroking the stubbled cheek. "Indeed, Potter. That seems to not be the only facet of your personality that rises."

Harry flushed but butted his head playfully against Draco's shoulder. A short tussle ensued where Harry found himself, sheet wrapped around his hips, astride the blond. Draco's breath caught in his throat at the look in Harry's eyes, so intense, but when Harry spoke, he was startled by the content. 

"What are you going to do about Miss Parkinson?" 

Draco sighed, closing his eyes to shield himself from the potential hurt in those green eyes. "I haven't the faintest idea. I've tried the monastery, threats of becoming a eunuch, promises of money, clothes, even other men. She's fixated on becoming the next Lady Malfoy." The blond turned his head, meeting Harry's gaze once more. "What are you going to do about Miss Weasley?"

"I told her I wouldn't marry her." 

Draco blinked. "You did what? Does Weasley know?"

It was Harry's turn to look away. "Ron doesn't know. He still thinks I'm going to ask for Ginny."

"So, you really haven't solved anything, have you?" he paused. "Except for breaking Miss Weasley's heart."

"Her heart didn't seem broken in conversation with Mr. Creevey," Harry noted, his voice intentionally light.

Draco shrugged easily, playing with their entwined hands. "Then perhaps you'll get lucky, Potter."

"And you, Malfoy?" Harry's eyes searched his face and Draco suppressed the urge to smirk again, smiling instead.

"Perhaps I can get lucky as well, and Miss Parkinson will be plowed over by a runaway carriage."

They both laughed, Harry bending low until their foreheads were touching and pressing his lips against Draco's. Draco tugged at the sheet still wrapped around Harry's lower half. Harry swatted the fingers away and smiled. "You still owe me a question, Malfoy."

Draco frowned at the swatting and slid his hands around Harry's waist, moving over the curve of Harry's backside. "I do?"

Harry sighed with exasperation and trapped Malfoy's wrists in his hands. "Yes, from the billiards match. Do you remember?"

The blond frowned, his forehead crinkling slightly. Revelation dawned and he eyed Harry suspiciously. "What sort of question do you have in mind?" 

Harry ducked his head shyly and grinned. "Are you up for another match, Draco? With perhaps, higher stakes?"

"What are you playing at, Potter? What sort of stakes?"

Playful green eyes peeked at Draco from under full lashes. "If you lose, you have to strip nude and remain as such until your mother and Miss Parkinson arrive home."

It was Draco's turn to blink. "You are a right exhibitionist, Potter." The blue eyes narrowed. "Fine. But if you lose, you have to do the same."

"Naturally."

~_~_~

"You cheated." 

"I most certainly did not."

"You did."

"Stuff it, Malfoy, and start stripping," Harry said, pulling his black coat back on over his brown patterned waistcoat. "Don't be such a sore loser." Harry arched a brow. 

Draco pouted, pulling his shirt over his head. The jacket, waistcoat, and stock had been discarded already. "Oh, you're the one that's going to be sore, Potter." Draco growled, glaring in a way that Harry found rather exciting. The blond seated himself on the sofa, unlacing his boots and removing his stockings as well. "I cannot believe you are making me strip naked in my own parlor."

Harry just smiled. "You agreed to the rules, Draco."

Draco stood again, pushing the trousers down his hips. Harry noted that all his clothing was meticulously folded, even his stockings. He grinned and Draco licked his lips dangerously, advancing on Harry. "You're going to pay for this, Potter."

"Can I work off my debt in trade?"

"You're such a tease, Harry."

"Oh, it's Harry now?" Draco quickly found his way onto Harry's lap and became reacquainted with a certain part of Harry's anatomy. Harry traced a line down Draco's jaw, arms wrapped tight around the slim frame pressed against him.

"I'm naked on your lap, Harry. I think I can drop the formality.," Harry chuckled, lifting his head to meet Draco's urgent kiss. He parted his lips, brushing his tongue against Draco's mouth. 

The intimate joining of tongues was interrupted by a piercing shriek followed by a stunned: "Mr. Malfoy Mr. Potter?"

Two pairs of eyes traveled quickly to the doorway where Miss Parkinson stood. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes, resting his head on Harry's shoulder. "Bugger," he stated succinctly, seemingly nonplussed at the interruption. 

Harry was considerably more shocked, having the urge to both push Draco from his lap in disgust and shield him from Miss Parkinson's wandering-and appreciative-gaze. 

"Pansy, darling, I'm rather in the middle of something, as you can see," he said dryly.

Pansy's face was red with embarrassment and she kept her eyes downcast. "I-I see that," her eyes narrowed. "But you will stop what you're doing at once. I demand it." She lifted her head haughtily. "Mr. Potter release Mr. Malfoy at once."

Draco blinked. Harry would have laughed, but he was rather busy himself, sinking back in the couch cushions as if they would absorb him. Would Sirius ever forgive him? Would Ron? How could he ever show his face in polite company again, being caught in such a scandalous predicament.

"Pansy, dear, if you're set on being the next Lady Malfoy then you ought to get used to it. It's a sight that will become familiar to you." Draco's voice had lost all sense of playful indulgence, becoming hard and cold. Harry was amazed at the change in his character. Draco's body was rigid on his lap, his fingers closed round Harry's forearm in a vise like grip. The changes were enough to shock Harry out of his self pitying stupor and stare at Draco in amazement.

"We'll see about that Mr. Malfoy," Pansy said, then turned and flounced out of the room. 

As soon as the door had closed behind Miss Parkinson, Draco relaxed, standing and pulling on his clothing roughly. "Stupid girl. How dare she demand anything of me? When I think of how my father will react when he hears this . . ."

Harry's hysteria quickly returned. "Your Father? You're going to tell your father?" he said, making no effort to hide the panicked nature of his inquiry.

Draco turned around, his mouth in a cruel grin. "Of course, Potter. Well . . ." Draco amended. "He's going to hear of Pansy's rudeness." The humor was back in Draco's face. "The exact nature of my state of undress or the position she found us in will not be mentioned. But now, Pansy will no longer pose a problem. I should thank the twit, and you, for that matter."

Harry's relief was visible, but his eyes reflected the uneasiness he harbored. Draco's indulgence of his whims had led them to a dangerous situation. Had it been anyone save Miss Parkinson . . . he shuddered to think if Lady Malfoy herself had found them. How could he have endangered Malfoy in this way? How could he have endangered himself?

Draco seemed to sense the wariness of the other man. "Harry. . ." he said softly, cupping the pale cheek tenderly. "I am a Malfoy. And with title there comes a certain imperviousness to scandal, first of all, and second, your reputation could not be dirtied if it were linked with mine." 

Harry blinked, nodding slightly. He attempted a smile. "There is nothing scandalous about two men being in the same room together, after all. We have the protection of our sex."

Draco's eyes were marvelously expressive, Harry noted suddenly, watching with interest as they flickered with emotion. Surprise morphed into realization, which in turn evolved into respect. The hand slid up into the dark hair, talented fingers massaging the scalp gently as the eyes darkened with desire. 

"Now you're understanding, Harry. Once we have explained our friendship . . . public relations will be relatively painless, as your Godfather and his companion have demonstrated." Harry flushed slightly at the mention of Sirius and Remus, but nodded.

"No one thinks twice about males together. In sport or play or merely boyish antics," he mused, suddenly remembering Sirius' fondness for wrestling with Remus. "But, where does that leave us?" he whispered, his palm resting over Draco's heart in an almost defensive gesture.

A slender hand covered his own and Draco brushed his lips gently against the lightning bolt scar. "Hiding in plain sight. Now, shall we go and meet my mother?" Harry nodded, but he couldn't fight the nagging feeling inside him that things were not going to be quite as simple as Draco hoped.


	9. Mariner Man

_Title: _Façade 
_Author:_ Malfoi ( shindemo_ii@yahoo.com ) 
_Category: _Romance/Humor/AU 
_Keywords: _Slash, Harry, Draco, Jane Austen, Alternate Universe 
_Rating:_ R 
_Spoilers: _Books 1-4 
_Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. 
In other words, the characters aren't mine... but the situations I put them in sure are. 
_Author's Notes:_ Wow, I never thought this chapter would be done. Lots has happened! Obscurus and I have amicably parted ways and I have a new beta-the lovely, talented, and goddess-like Earthquake. *Schnoogles EQ* this chapter would not be as wonderful as you tell me it is without your limitless patience and eagerness to help me. Thanks are also due to Superwoman Heidi for giving me a much needed lesson in perspective, WvB for Nifflering Façade on FictionAlley (Gah! I can't believe I was mentioned in the same context of Love Under Will!), Shini and Claire for begging me for Chapter Nine and making me feel special, and Fwooper, who left me an inspiring review today that made me eager to post this chapter. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

Façade 

Chapter Nine 

Mariner Man 

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_ 

Dinner with Lady Narcissa, Miss Parkinson, and Draco was one of the most painful experiences of Harry's life, or so the dark haired male noted fifteen minutes into the first course. 
  
Harry and Miss Parkinson were seated across from each other at the large table. Lady Narcissa sat at the head, Miss Parkinson on her right. Opposite his mother, Draco was tracing the rim of his wineglass with a slender finger. 
  
"Mr. Goyle was quite attentive to our Miss Parkinson this afternoon, Draco, darling." Lady Narcissa smiled warmly at her intended daughter-in-law, who on cue, fluttered her eyelashes demurely. "You had better be careful that he does not steal away this lovely little gem." 
  
The Malfoy heir arched a brow. "Oh? Well that's good news isn't it, Pansy, dear?" he said. "Perhaps you won't end up a spinster after all."  
  
Lady Narcissa blinked, not understanding, but Miss Parkinson flushed. 
  
"If it were not for certain guests, who receive more of your attentions than they deserve, Mr. Malfoy," she responded crossly, "I would not be in danger of spinsterhood." A significant glance towards Harry made Lady Narcissa's eyes narrow. 
  
"Mr. Potter? Do you have anything to say to this?" she demanded. 
  
Harry ducked his head, eyeing the exquisitely prepared halibut on his plate with a decided sense of kinship. "I apologize, Lady Narcissa, but I am not understanding Miss Parkinson's meaning." 
  
"Are you not, Mr. Potter?" Pansy interrupted. "I should hope you would have the barest hint of a situation that fell in your lap, so to speak." 
Draco stroked the stem of the wineglass with long aristocratic fingers. His usual smirk transformed into great amusement as he watched Harry flush deeply in response to Pansy's gross attempt at subtlety, absolutely scandalized. 
"Oh I think the situation is quite plain," Draco said at last. "Naked, one might even call it. And, if I do say so myself, he enjoyed it very much, and would have enjoyed it more had a certain person not interrupted its natural progression." 
Harry felt the blood drain from his cheeks in mortification. His fingers gripped his fork until he feared it would snap, but he continued to stare at the fish, although the urge to stare at Draco was almost unbearable. How could Draco sit there as Harry was publicly taunted and have the nerve to caress the stem of his wineglass so suggestively, exchanging innuendo with Miss Parkinson? The urge to stab the blond's obscene hands with the aforementioned fork grew exponentially. 
Miss Parkinson huffed. "Natural progression? Unnatural inclination is more the way of things. Your tastes, Mr. Malfoy, in friends and guests, are not for discussion in polite company, although I would be more than happy to inform Lady Narcissa of the full extent of your liaisons." 
  
Draco smiled sweetly. "If you do, Pansy dear, rest assured you will be calling on Mr. Goyle posthaste." 
  
"Draco, Pansy, what on earth are you talking of? I must know the details immediately." Lady Narcissa tightened her lips, creating the impression of an aristocratic pout. 
Harry began to pray for lightning to strike him dead. Lady Narcissa could not honestly be demanding the details of the afternoon that were all too clear in Harry's memory: Draco stripping, all elegance and lean lines. He cursed his memory for bringing that particular image to the forefront of his mind. 
"Oh, nothing of interest, Mother," Draco said casually. 
  
Pansy snorted. "I beg to differ, Mr. Malfoy. My interest was piqued at once. And Mr. Potter was definitely interested." 
  
"And how would you know if a man is interested, Miss Parkinson?" Draco said silkily. "Unless Gregory Goyle has changed greatly in the past few months I doubt anything other than a five course dinner could interest that man. Present company included." 
  
"Rest assured, Mr. Malfoy." Pansy said heatedly. "Many a man has shown interest in me, although not as great an interest as you showed in Mr. Potter." 
  
Draco sent her an icy blue glare, but Harry swallowed nervously, cursing internally. 
  
"You only wish you could be the recipient of such interest, Pansy." Draco said under his breath. "And I'll have you know Mr. Potter's interest was just as great, was it not?" he said, tilting his face towards Harry. 
Now he was forced to participate in the highly scandalous conversation. Where, in God's name, was his lightning? "One could not help but be interested, considering the inducement," Harry murmured softly as he sank a few inches in his chair, still gripping his cutlery as though his life depended on it. 
"If you intend to continue a relationship with my son, Mr. Potter, your interest had best be less bold," Lady Narcissa said airily.   
  
"But of course, coming from the lower classes, you would not realize the delicacy of reputation, now would you, Mr. Potter?" the matriarch added. 
  
Harry lifted his head, answering with as much dignity as he could muster. "If it is your considered opinion that Mr. Malfoy has searched for companionship outside of his own class, I cannot agree, considering we are both gentlemen. However his choice of companions must be the result of a lack of interest with his current connections. Excuse me, Lady Narcissa, Miss Parkinson." Glancing at Draco, who seemed nonplussed at his mother's insinuation, he left the dining room. 
  
~_~_~ 
  
"Potter?"  
  
Harry wandered among the rose bushes, his cheeks as colorful as the blooms. Half of him wanted to dig a small hole and bury himself where no one could find him, especially not Draco. There, beside the white roses. Then when they withered and died they would fall on top of him, appropriately enough. A smaller, quieter part of himself was angry at Draco, for allowing him to be addressed in such a manner by his mother, and upset at the insinuations that his-his what? Friend? Acquaintance?-had participated in. Considering that Draco had been naked on his lap only hours earlier, it seemed rather unfair of him. Harry angrily raked his fingers back through his hair, making it stand in awkward clumps. 
  
At that moment Draco entered the rose garden, scanning the rows of bushes for a slim figure. He spotted Harry, who was looking melancholy enough to serve as a model for any of the classical masters. His eyes were downcast and the last streaks of the evening sunset cast blue shadows across his form. 
  
"Potter, if you intended to hide on the grounds, you could have at least picked the orchard. The rose bushes go halfway up your chest," he said lightly. 
  
Harry exhaled sharply. It was now or never. "I apologize, Draco. It was very rude of me to leave like that. But under the circumstances, I should think it was hardly unexpected. I shall pack my bags tomorrow, if you would be so kind as to arrange a carriage." 
  
"What are you going on about?" Draco narrowed his eyes, but kept his distance. "Come inside, Harry. It will be dark soon." 
"You cannot desire my company any longer," Harry said, fidgeting with the hem of his coat. After such a humiliating exposure, he found the prospect of facing Draco, or Lady Narcissa and Miss Parkinson for that matter, to be torturous. He remained next to the large bush of Christmas roses, the only bush not blooming in the midsummer season. 
"Harry, am I speaking too plainly to inform you I care not a whit whether you offend my mother or that pug faced twit who has far more interest in the size of my pedigree than in the size of my . . ." Draco trailed off, then grinned. "Well, in any case, it would not come as a surprise, considering their low opinion of your background. Now come inside, please? I really don't think you want to spend the rest of your life in this garden, do you?" 
There, in that moment, Harry felt his ire and doubt towards the other man melt away, just as a thunderstorm suddenly quells the summer heat. The angry voice within him fell silent in response to the playful gleam and earnestness found within the eyes he was beginning, hesitantly, to trust. Draco's casual denunciation of Lady Narcissa and Miss Parkinson rendered moot the preceding humiliation. He blinked and stared in absolute shock at the emotions the aristocratic male could evoke. Harry was still attempting to absorb this new dimension when Draco shrugged and moved to wrap his arm around Harry's waist, brushing his lips against his companion's temple. 
"Don't look struck dumb, Potter. Malfoys are as famed for their snobbery as they are for their beauty. Although I probably should have warned you," he admitted, almost as an afterthought. "Come inside?" he asked, studying Harry's sun-warmed features with a renewed earnestness. "Now that we've been excused from dinner I thought we could go upstairs for some . . . dessert?" 
  
Harry hadn't thought it possible to blush any more that night after the humiliating debacle at dinner. He'd thought wrong. At Draco's invitation he felt his the blood course through his cheeks, and lower. Sweet Jesus . . . it bewildered him how Draco Malfoy could say such incredibly arousing things so casually. "D-dessert?" He stumbled over the euphemism. 
  
The blond moved closer, sliding his hand enticingly down the curve of Harry's hip. "Mmm. What say you to accompanying me upstairs to my chambers?" 
  
Harry shivered, knowing the chill that swept through him had nothing to do with the cool midsummer air. Days earlier, even hours, he would have wished to deny his overwhelming emotions as desire, as he had in the past when he found his eyes lingering on other men and not the women at their sides. Harry could not dispute the idea that tugged at his and argued with his mind, that now he trusted Draco implicitly-at least here, within the sanctuary of Malfoy Manor, where Draco ruled his senses. Here, at Malfoy Manor, he could do nothing but surrender to the sensations. He exhaled sharply as he studied his companion. "I would like that . . . very much." 
  
Harry found himself the recipient of an extremely eager kiss that made him tingle from his ears to his ankles. Draco's eyes shone with anticipation like candlelight on crystal before he withdrew to a discreet distance. Their fingers brushed lightly against one another's as Harry was led back inside Malfoy Manor and upstairs to the heir's bedchambers. On their way they passed the same drawing room where Harry had met Lady Narcissa and Miss Parkinson. Harry tensed nervously upon hearing the soft murmur of voices emanating from within. Noting the stiffness of the other male, Draco grasped his hand. Harry looked up, startled, only to be met with a purely casual glance and an innocent expression. 
  
Draco's bedroom was, like everything else about him, elegantly decorated, extremely tidy, and reeking of wealth. The large bed was easily twice the size of his own, decorated with an intricately carved mahogany headboard. The posters and canopy were draped with brilliant cream, embroidered with tiny gold threads. The bed itself was draped in a green, shimmering fabric that seemed to move in the candlelight. 
  
Draco guided Harry to the bed and sat down carefully, more for his own benefit than the benefit of his green eyed companion who blushed whenever their eyes met. He kept his head bowed as he stared at their entwined hands, his thumb moving in small circles over the back of Harry's hand. He was a little surprised to note that his heart rate had sped up, his hand slightly trembling within Harry's own. In shock, he realized he was nervous. 
  
Nervous, over a simple act of sex. 
  
Draco had enjoyed too many partners, both male and female, to think that there was anything left to surprise him in the sexual realm. Restraints, domination, submission, food, whips, straps, rods . . . he'd had a very sordid past with the denizens of Knockturn Alley. As he studied Harry, so honest and trusting in the candlelight, silent either from fear or because he was focused on his own nervousness. . . he realized the difference. He cared about Harry, and although Malfoys didn't often use the word, Draco was almost certain he loved the dark haired male with the lightning bolt scar. He was nervous because he wanted to please Harry, more eagerly and honestly than in the master-slave games he'd played in the past. He wanted Harry to know nothing of the darkness of sex . . . only the joy. He wanted to see Harry writhe in hedonistic delight, losing himself to simply . . . be. 
  
"Draco?" 
  
He was pulled from his musings by the husky baritone and smiled, not quite keeping the leer from his features as he turned, like a beast to his prey. Slowly he leaned forward to capture Harry's lips, his free hand wrapped around the back of his torso to pull him closer, subtly shifting their forms to be intimately aligned. 
  
"Are you comfortable, Harry?" he murmured against his lips before softly kissing him again. This night was for Harry's pleasure, not his own, and by giving Harry pleasure he would find his own. 
  
The sweet mouth gasped beneath his as Draco took advantage of Harry's parted lips to plunge inside, licking the wet cavern with delightfully slow deliberateness as if committing its features to memory. He felt the other male shiver, their hearts pounding in unison. His left hand clasped Harry's, the other moving to rest in the small of his back, his biceps gripped by the tanned brown hand. Whether the grip was to push him away or pull him closer he did not know, but he abandoned the pliant lips to turn his attention to the angled jawline, leaving his lover panting for air. 
  
"Oh, Draco . . .." Harry breathed. The arm, like an iron bar against Harry's back, kept him from fleeing as Draco tugged softly on the Gordian knot of Harry's cravat, the soft material flowing around his neck as swift fingers carelessly swept it aside, the demanding mouth instantly plundering the freshly bared skin. The ease with which Harry found himself undressed made him wonder how many times the other man had done the same thing to other males, a thought which was forced out of his mind as Draco continued his exploration. 
  
How Draco could make minutes feel like hours with his talented mouth and fingers was a mystery to Harry. Desperate, keening noises emanated from his throat as Draco paid homage to it, alternating between scraping the tender muscle with his lips and smoothing it with his tongue. Draco's kisses made him feel safe, he realized. He trusted that if he were to protest, the fires between them would be quickly, if reluctantly, extinguished. However, Harry had no intention of dousing the fire that threatened to consume them both. His neck and back arched under the attention, eager for more sensation, and he exhaled sharply as his waistcoat was unbuttoned, his shirt pulled up from his trousers. The muscles of his stomach tightened as Draco's industrious hand worked at the broad fall of his trousers, sliding behind the panel of material to caress heated flesh. 
  
"Please. . . Draco?" The blond lifted his head at the query, blue eyes meeting Harry's gaze, holding him on edge. 
  
Draco's voice was stilted by acute gasps, his lungs demanding air at last. "What do you want, Harry? I can give you anything . . . anything that will give you pleasure. Please tell me." 
  
"I don't know . . . I confess my inexperience, especially in regards to exactly what a man does in situations such as these." The words were spoken haltingly. Harry averted his gaze as Draco stroked his skin. Was it usual to be incoherent at times like these? Such touches . . . Harry had never imagined a woman could make him tremble with a simple touch, much less a man. Well, that was not quite right. In the past he had desperately tried to pretend the emotions towards other males were simply admiration or jealousy. Ever since he had met Draco Malfoy he had imagined it, and experienced it. 
  
Draco laid Harry back against the sheets with a wry smile. "I assure you, Harry, what men do in these situations is quite similar to what women do." He undressed as he spoke, tossing aside his jacket, scarf and shirt carelessly. 
  
Harry relaxed visibly, smiling as his lover stripped for the third time that day. Were he not so aroused he would find it amusing that in the past six days Draco had spent more time out of his clothes than in them. At the current moment he was merely grateful for the pale skin that was bared to his sight. "You are experienced then." 
  
"You could say that." The fall of the cream colored trousers was unbuttoned. Platinum tresses fell forward, covering his eyes as he bent at the waist, unlacing his boots before setting them aside. Trousers and stockings quickly joined the rest of their discarded garments. Draco stood nude for a moment, reminding Harry of an ancient god, sculpted of chiseled marble. 
  
Jade eyes devoured Draco's body, and he pursed his lips in thought. "Will you teach me?" he asked, hesitantly. 
  
Draco tilted his head, blinking slightly in disbelief. "What?" 
  
Harry found his confidence, smiling guilelessly. "I want you to show me . . . how it can be between us."  
  
"There are many ways for things to be between us," his companion said, voice husky with desire. 
  
A devilish look transformed the angelic face as Harry reveled in his own boldness "Then you'd better get started, hadn't you? We've only got eight days, after all." 
  
Draco nodded, seating himself astride muscular thighs. "Take your shirt off, Harry." 
  
He complied, pulling off the loose-sleeved garment and baring himself to Draco's unwavering stare. Although Harry had been naked in front of the man before, and partially bare more times than he could remember without coloring, he still found himself ill at ease under Draco's perusal. Draco eyed him in the same way that he'd seen the gentleman eye a piece of artwork, or a landscape, studying contours, shadows, and the play of light like a well trained critic. 
"You're so beautiful, Harry," he said, running his fingers down the smooth shaven cheek. 
  
Harry shivered, turning his cheek into the gentle touch. "You've said so before. Am I to conclude you have poor eyesight?" 
  
"I'm a Malfoy. Even if I were blind I would not stand to have my opinion contradicted." The hands were busy again, pulling the trousers down past Harry's hips and exposing more skin to Draco's examination. Long fingers flowed over the flesh abandoned by the fabric, gently teasing the male, his mouth curved with satisfaction as Harry moaned beneath him. 
  
"Oh God . . . how do you know how to touch me. . . and make me feel like this, Draco?" To his disappointment the hands moved lower, unlacing his boots, which landed with an audible thump as they fell off the edge of the bed. Soon he was completely nude, cheeks aflame, and trembling slightly as Draco regarded him from above, obviously delighted by the havoc he was wreaking on Harry's senses. 
  
"Like what?" he asked, leaning down to press their mouths together. 
  
Harry arched against him sweetly, his hands resting against his lover's chest, tracing patterns on the perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles. "Like I'm on fire . . ."  
  
Draco shivered under Harry's trembling touch as he studied his lover's countenance. He recognized desire, plainly evident, a thrill coursing through him to be one of the few, if not the only, recipient of such desire. "Years of practice," he said breathlessly, watching the kiss swollen lips curve into a grin that matched his own, the brilliant eyes unfocused with passion. 
  
"Do you want me, Harry?" he asked, words pouring out of him in a rush. "I want you desperately . . . but if you're not ready . . . or if you're unsure . . .." 
  
Harry arched a brow, almost exasperated and too far gone to even fathom stopping. If he'd had any reservations about becoming intimate, they'd been whittled away by Draco's charm and steadfast assurances of faith. "Yes . . . please, Draco." 
  
This time it was Draco who relaxed visibly. "Hold on, then," his partner murmured. 
  
Harry sat up, scooting back against the hardwood in a seated position as Draco moved away. He smiled tightly, betraying his nervousness. Somehow it helped to know that Draco had considerable personal experience . . . but at the same time, it only added to his own feelings of inadequacy. Only Draco's reassuring touch and lustful gazes assured him that his partner felt no disappointment. 
  
He watched as the lithe form rolled across the bed to a chest of drawers, removing something. Upon his return he realized it was a small vial filled with liquid. 
  
"What is that, Draco?" he asked curiously. 
  
Draco straddled him again, wasting no time in refamilarizing himself with Harry's skin. "Oil. Lavender oil, as it happens. My mother is particularly fond of it for her skin and thus, I am particularly fond of pinching a small quantity every now and then for my own purposes." 
  
Dark lashes brushed against pink cheeks as Harry's eyes fluttered shut under the pleasurable ministrations, pursing his lips with his tongue absently, his chest rising and falling with quick shallow breaths. "And what purpose is that?" 
  
A pale brow arched, indicating surprise, Harry was relieved to note, not disgust or annoyance. "Women are naturally slick, Harry. Men are not. The oil makes me slick for you." He watched as Draco poured a small amount of oil onto his belly, then lower. 
  
Under Draco's guidance, Harry became lost in sensation, the emotional plane of existence converging with the physical as every touch filled his senses. This act was implicitly about trust, he realized. Draco's eyes met his, each man seeing a reflection of pleasure and yearning on the other's face. In that moment of revelation, he knew he trusted the other man, and his heart warmed with the knowledge that Draco must trust him in return. Fire that burns slow can consume with more power than a tindered flame, and Harry abandoned himself to Draco's mercy, swept away by the desire burning his soul until he felt he might be burned to ash. 
In post-coital exhilaration, Harry pressed his lips against the creamy curve of his lover's shoulder. As he gazed down at Draco's face, he felt truly blessed. A shy smile appeared as he realized that his request for divine lightning had not been ignored, after all. Their chests heaved together as the blond rested his head on Harry's shoulder, pale lashes dusting cheeks flushed from exertion. 
  
"The Lord works in mysterious ways," he murmured, fingers lightly tracing designs on his lover's skin slowly, reflecting his sated state. "What was that?" 
  
Draco lifted his head, a hint of amusement in the sated expression as he whetted his lips before speaking. "Lesson one."   



	10. Valse

_Title: _Façade 
_Author:_ Malfoi ( shindemo_ii@yahoo.com ) 
_Category: _Romance/Humor/AU 
_Keywords: _Slash, Harry, Draco, Jane Austen, Alternate Universe 
_Rating:_ R 
_Spoilers: _Books 1-4 
_Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. 
In other words, the characters aren't mine... but the situations I put them in sure are. 
_Author's Notes: _ Another chapter done. Big, big thanks to EQ (as always) and to Heidi for betaing. It's my fault the chapter has taken so long to come out. I'm back at college now and being swamped by Japanese, Shakespeare, and my required science class that I need to graduate (Weather: Climate and Change). I'm also working like a dog as the manager of the on campus Coffeehouse. I can't tell you when the next chapter will be out, but the fic is not finished, I promise you. Many surprises (I hope) to come and many issues to resolve.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

Façade 

Chapter Ten

Valse

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_ 

Draco shifted in his sleep, one arm stretched possessively across Harry's chest. The move startled Harry awake and he blushed to realize that he and his lover were still intimately entangled. A cautionary attempt to move made him aware of the cold liquid on his stomach and thighs. Carefully backing away so that Draco slipped out of him, he reached for the cloth kept for such occasions on the bedside table, dampening it with water poured from a porcelain ewer. His skin prickled at the chilly bath. Harry eyed the sleeping man beside him, hesitating before cleaning his companion as well, watching him shrink from his touch. Setting the cloth aside he adjusted the covers, watching the early morning light sweep across the slumbering form.

He was leaving today. It could no longer be postponed. The last week had passed in a blur for Harry. He couldn't remember ever being so happy, or satisfied, in all manners of speaking. Draco was an incredible lover, and had the good grace to not make him feel like a child in his innocence—which was quickly becoming a dim memory. The vividness of Draco encompassed everything. 

The object of his musings awoke, stretching languidly, arms tightening around Harry's chest. "Must you really go today?" he murmured, the dawn light making his eyes look grey and mysterious, like clouds on the horizon, promising an impending storm. He shifted, muscles rippling beneath flawless skin. Harry could now properly appreciate the strength contained in that lithe body. Compared to the delicate form that clung so sensuously to him, he felt poorly constructed: too broad, too muscled, too flawed. He rubbed the scar on his forehead, his constant reminder of his own imperfection, and smoothed the cornsilk strands of hair from Draco's forehead, placing a reverent kiss there before nodding. 

"Ron will be sending out a search party if I fail to appear at the Burrow on schedule, more than likely demanding to know what you've done with my body." 

A lecherous grin appeared on Malfoy's face. "I had no idea Weasley had such a kinky side. Will you regale him with all the details or just a select few and watch to see if he blushes?"

Harry smacked the blond playfully on his exposed cheek. "I meant my corpse, you scoundrel."

Draco grunted and arched a brow in amusement, rolling over onto Harry's body, hands caressing his lover's tanned skin. "I haven't done anything to your corpse. Yet."

"Yet?! What's that supposed to mean? Are you harboring necrophiliac tendencies, Draco?" Harry gaped, properly astonished.

"Mmm. I suppose necromancy would be far more appealing. Dark magic." Draco's face curved into a wicked grin as he sat back on his heels, hands moving over Harry's body in mystical patterns. 

Brilliant green eyes regarded him intently, curiosity and amusement reflected therein. "Do you believe in that?"

"Raising the dead?" Draco shrugged as he lay bonelessly against the covers and closed his eyes. 

Harry cleared his throat, breath catching with stifled emotion. "No . . . magic."

"I don't know." Draco flashed a crooked grin as his eyes opened again, surprisingly intense despite his lazy demeanor. "But I know that to spend my life with you, I would risk anything, even if it meant losing my soul." Harry blushed at the husky tenor of Draco's voice as his lover then continued softly, "_Verweile doch. Du bist so schön. Dann magst du mich in Fesseln schlagen, Dann will ich gern zugrunde gehn._" 

The moment hung between them until Harry blinked, brow furrowing in confusion. "Pardon?"

Draco rolled his eyes before closing them once more, a much abused martyr for culture's sake. "I was quoting Goethe, you uncultured sot."

Harry frowned, shifting on the bed to stretch out beside the blond, propped up on his side as he looked down at Draco. "What does it mean?"

One blue eye opened lazily, a serene smile appearing as he lifted his hand, fingers trailing down the side of Harry's face. "Stay. You are so fair. Then may you clap me into shackles; then will I gladly go to the ground."

"Oh." Harry exhaled slowly. "I didn't realize that German could be that romantic."

Draco dropped his hand with a sigh, nearly pouting. "It's not romantic, Potter. It's desperate. Faust is being seduced by the devil."

"Oh." Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Are you equating me with the devil?"

Draco lunged forward, knocking Harry off balance and pressing the heavier man back against the sheets. "You are my captor, Harry." Harry snorted at this and struggled against Draco's grip on his wrists, watching as the blond lowered his head, tongue tracing patterns on the bare skin of Harry's chest. "I would allow you to suck my soul dry. . ." Harry drew a breath as Draco sucked on the sensitive nub of flesh ". . .even if only to imbue you with some semblance of culture." An affectionate nip on the abused nipple made Harry cry out, glaring reproachfully as Draco grinned down at him, the platinum fall of hair looking silver in the haze of dawn. "Good God, Harry, you went to university."

"I studied." Harry said defensively.

"Why do I have a feeling you studied the cricket matches and fencing more often than you studied French?" Draco released Harry's hands, raking his fingers back through the silvery locks. 

"I know my French," Harry replied heatedly, becoming riled at Draco's condescension. 

"En guarde and touché do not count as understanding the exquisite beauty of the French language," The elegant male drawled. 

"I never could see any beauty in French. It's so inarticulate and vague compared with English." Harry countered. 

Draco's head tilted slightly to the side, more in disbelief than in actual consideration for Harry's opinion. "French is a language for thinking, Harry."

"Latin is a language for thinking. And for poetry."

"Oh? Well, well. You surprise me, Harry. Which of the Roman poets strikes your fancy?" 

Harry sunk into the bedsheets, keeping his face to the side as he spoke in barely audible tones. "I was always struck by Catullus' concept of love . . . as a contract. Not marriage, but love itself as a contract between two individuals. 'aeternum hoc sanctae foedus amicitiae.' It's so spiritual. . . reverent." Harry lifted his eyes to meet Draco's judgmental gaze. 

"And boring," the blond said. "The Romans thought of everything as a proposition. 'This eternal compact of hallowed friendship' indeed." Draco snickered, drawing the sheet across his body in the ancient fashion. "We shall fornicate at precisely this hour. I've got to be in the Senate to hail Caeser before my nightly scheduled orgy."

As much as Harry admired how the toga flattered his lover, he did not appreciate his attempt at erudition being so cruelly mocked. Harry did not consider himself to be a gentlemen of the world, as he had not traveled to the Continent, but neither did he consider himself an uncultured sot, as Draco had worded it earlier. "Must you offend everything spiritual so freely?" he said, pinching Draco's backside in a physical revenge.

To his chagrin the blond squirmed into his touch, the smirk on his face dismissing his lover's words. "Is it not intentional? These are the Romans, Harry." 

"There are plenty of other spiritualists and romantics. Not all of them are as literal minded as you."

"You think poets do not live for double entendre and innuendo? Just look at John Donne." 

Harry dismissed the notion immediately, his brow furrowed. "A falsehood, I declare. He was one of the great spiritualists of the Enlightenment."

"And very, very erotic." Draco said, letting the sheet slip off his torso, revealing more of the ivory skin that inflamed Harry's senses.

Green eyes followed the progress of the sheet from Draco's collar to his thigh, his voice sounding husky to his own ears. "I don't believe you." 

"Then I must prove myself, mustn't I?" Draco said with a grin. "Allow me to educate you," he purred, moving on top of Harry. Leaning down, he traced his pupil's forehead and temples with his mouth, depositing soft, wet, kisses. 

~_~_~

A great deal of time later, Draco lay his head against Harry's sweat drenched skin and kissed Harry's shoulder between gasping breaths, content to lay within his lover as they recovered together. He forced himself to draw slow, deep breaths as he leaned back to study Harry's countenance, his hand lifting to brush damp locks of hair from his forehead, his thumb brushing lovingly against the lightning bolt shaped scar.  
  
Harry opened his eyes slowly, acutely aware of Draco's touch. Every caress, every breath, every movement seemed to encompass his entire world as his body and mind attempted to reconcile themselves with each other, to reconcile himself. Draco had the remarkable ability to shock his senses with things foreign. Losing in a billiards game—that had been foreign. Being rivaled in his attentions to Ginny was foreign. Romantic innuendo directed at him was foreign. Being insulted in polite company was foreign. Erotic exploration of another male's body was foreign. And, now, being made acutely aware of how sensual spiritual poetry could be. Not for the first time he marveled at the way Draco had affected him so greatly in the past two weeks of constant contact, and wondered whether he and Draco would be able to do as Sirius and Remus had done, and become devoted companions to one another for years without recess. 

A pleasurable stroking behind his ears made him blink and his gaze focused, flickering upwards to see Draco smiling at him, a question in the blue eyes.

He smiled back, his voice husky with emotion as he spoke. "You know, I studied that poem at university."

Draco shifted beside him, his skin creating friction as it rubbed against his own. "Did your professor demonstrate this particular interpretation in class?"

Harry laughed, his hands sliding down the blond's shoulders in a lingering caress. "I can't say I've ever heard Donne interpreted so . . ." Without his wanting it, he was becoming aroused again. Was this affliction ever to be conquered? Would he ever be able to think of Draco as anything but a sexual being? He changed what he was going to say mid-sentence. ". . .was the poem really intended in that way? Or are you just making it sexual?" 

Draco kissed his lips softly, tracing his cheek in a purely affectionate and indulgent manner. "Harry, I recited the text verbatim." His usual smirk returned to grace his features as Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Well . . . using action in place of imagination illustrates the sexual nature of the text perhaps a little more clearly."

"Perhaps . . . a very little." Harry admitted grudgingly, "or perhaps I was right and you have this urge to defile all that is holy. I always thought that poem to be about a man's struggle between earthly love for his lover and spiritual love for his god."

"I don't consider it a defilement to see how the practical relates to the spiritual. Not everything is as ideal as the poet may have you think. You should know that more than anyone, Harry." Soft fingers stroked his cheek, the blue eyes looking intense even if they were accompanied with a jocular smirk. "If our relationship were ideal . . . perhaps one of us would be female."

Reality was slowly invading Harry and Draco's perfect world. Life existed outside of Malfoy Manor, and more importantly, the world outside labeled them as abnormal. Sodomites. Harry responded with a smile, trying to keep his tone light and teasing in an attempt to keep the seriousness away. "You are more feminine than I am. Think of all the lovely muslin gowns you could have." 

Draco eyed Harry, aware of the fine line they walked between despair and resolve. Indulging the other man, he raised a brow in challenge. "Hrm. I'll decline as I don't wish to relive my days at Mother Clapp's." The blond stretched in a sinfully erotic manner, leering at his lover. "And besides that . . . men's clothing is far easier and more fun to remove. There are a number of uses for that stock I've yet to show you." 

"There's no time yet before I leave?" Harry asked, feeling his pulse speed up at the images conjured by the remark. Draco was so very talented with words.

"Mmm. Perhaps we have time for a lesson or two. If that's the only thing you wish to enjoy this last morning in paradise." Draco leaned back against the bed with a sulky pout. "Before you're off to face the nine circles of hell known as the Weasleys." 

Harry frowned, his always expressive eyes revealing his hurt at the slight. "Hermione is a Weasley now. Can't you speak of them for five minutes without being insulting? They're honest, decent people, Draco Malfoy." 

Draco, having been so in tune with Harry's emotions and thoughts for the past two weeks, immediately directed the conversation in a more neutral direction. "At least I have God to thank that Hermione settled down with Ron. I had a horrifying dream in which she had married the older son, Percival, and had a brood of know-it-all redheaded children."

Harry had to smile at that, allowing a laugh to escape him. "Percy? Oh lord. I don't think he could handle someone like Hermione, despite the similarities in temperament when it comes to the pursuit of knowledge. I believe he's attached to a Miss Clearwater of Bath."

Draco sat up, brushing sweat-dampened locks of hair out of his face. "Clearwater? I believe I know the family. Distantly connected of course. Soft-spoken girl, but level headed. I daresay she'd not lead him astray." 

"No, I doubt she would." Harry said quietly, enjoying the sight of his normally composed lover sweaty and tousled.

"And as far as connections go, a fine match," Draco continued lazily. "The Weasleys are moving up in society, thanks to their offspring. Hopes usually rest on daughters to marry well, not the sons. But I suppose in Miss Weasley's case one cannot really ask for much."

Harry's chivalrous nature showed itself as his shoulders squared, conveying the impression of strength that Draco knew was more than skin deep. "You are not entitled to speak so harshly of Miss Weasley, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice low. "You made half the party think you were madly in love with her during your stay at Hogwarts. And I, for one, have not forgiven you." Green eyes shone with fierce protectiveness as he held Draco's gaze. To Harry's immense surprise, and respect, Draco did not back down, but returned the accusation.

"I did her a favor and opened her eyes, Potter," he said, his voice dripping with formal condescension. "She is tolerable, I suppose. But unless she allows herself to become a person, and not a commodity, she will never be handsome enough to tempt any man." 

"Ginny has her own charms, Draco," Harry responded defensively. "Someday a man will surely be able to see that and give her what she wants."

His exclamation was met with silence, the other male studying him quietly. At length, Draco's eyes met his, piercing his soul as he spoke. His voice was carefully neutral, but spoken with hesitation. "So far, Harry, the only man that is able to do as you ask . . . is you. Are you willing to trade her happiness for yours?"

~_~_~

Their farewells were brief. Harry took his leave of Lady Narcissa and Miss Parkinson, noting the smug satisfaction in their eyes as they wished him a good journey. They excused themselves quickly, retreating inside on the pretext that Miss Parkinson's delicate health was threatened by the summer breeze. 

But even without female prying eyes, public etiquette and inherent caution made both of them wary. At last Draco clapped Harry on the shoulder. "We shan't meet again for quite a few months, Potter," he said casually. The desperate blue eyes spoke volumes, his voice strained. "You will write to me, I pray." 

Harry felt the touch burn even through the layers of clothing, Draco's thumb tracing small circles. He took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth twitching in a half smile. "I promise. I'll be at the Burrow until the end of September. Then I shall return home, to Godric's Hollow." He stepped away from Draco's hand, trembling slightly, and climbed into the carriage.

Once Harry had seated himself, their eyes met through the lowered window, trying to communicate everything that had been left unvoiced. 

"Bon voyage, Harry." Draco said softly.

Harry said nothing, the space between them growing ever wider. Draco nodded once, in understanding, and ordered the coachman to drive on. Harry leaned back against the leather seat, sighing heavily as the horses carried him from the great estate. A lone figure stood stoically by the gate. Unwilling to watch his lover disappear completely from sight, Harry turned his face away, closing his eyes. 

Memories spun through his mind as he let it wander, inevitably, to thoughts of Draco Malfoy. The blond coolly eyeing him from across the room at Hogwarts, gazing at him challengingly across the billiards room, looking down on him as Harry lay writhing with pleasure. Draco's face was an ever changing living mask of expression. A variety of emotions could be indicated with only the arch of a brow, a curl of his lips. There was one constant, no matter what the situation: blue eyes regarding him with such intensity as to make him breathless, weak, feeling unworthy of the adoration they revealed.

He would miss that. 

He would also miss waking up to feel Draco's eyes upon him, and the simple pleasure of flesh against flesh in an intimate setting. Not having been touched often as a child, or at any point in his life, Harry had been almost shocked to discover how much he enjoyed Draco's touch. Thoughts of touching Ginny or any other girl had never crossed his mind. During the past two weeks he'd learned to indulge his long-suppressed need for human contact. Months without that solace lay dauntingly on the horizon.

And there was Ginny. Draco had alluded to her earlier and Harry had, naturally, jumped to her defense as he was trained to do. Even if he could not bear to give Miss Weasley the life that she deserved, it was his responsibility, as much as it was Ron's or any of her family's, to see that she was happily, and advantageously, married. He only hoped that Ginny would be easily persuaded to see other suitors. Although the way she responded to Draco's flattery, and the flattery of the militia officer, Creevey, seemed to indicate she might be amenable. 

However, Harry could not justify being absent any longer. He had commitments to the Weasleys, and to Sirius and Remus, that required his attention. Ever since he had left university he had taken a portion of the management of Godric's Hollow upon his shoulders, since his godfather had no taste for scientific farming, and although his steward Dobby was a capable man, good to Harry's tenants, he was nearing the age of retirement and inclined to be timid. Harry did not intend to shirk his responsibilities as a landowner, and had no doubt that when he returned home there would be many matters requiring his attention. The months ahead would be both busy, and empty, and he knew the hardest part would not be being without Draco, but being without himself. He was Harry Potter—the burden, the friend, the godson, and the master. Until Draco had shown him how things could be, he had hardly known that his life was a shadow, a façade. Not until he was with Draco behind closed doors would he once again be able to drop the mask.


	11. Popular Song

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. 

Author Notes: Here at last, here at last. ^_^;; I apologize for my four month absence. Hopefully, this chapter and the one that follows will make up for it a little bit. Massive thank yous belong to my betas Heidi (SuperWoman), Earthquake (UberWoman), and Lady Morsmordre (LofflyWoman) for all their help and support through the weeks during Christmas break and January when I finally got all of this writing done. I love them each of them more than words can say and appreciate everything they've done for me. Sincerely. Now, on with the show . . .

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Façade  
Chapter Eleven  
Popular Song  
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The trip from Malfoy Manor to the Burrow was long and tiring, not only because of the absence of company. The landscape seemed monotonous, devoid of color or interest. Restless, Harry spent the majority of the journey attempting to steel himself to indifference. He was returning to the home of his best friend Ron, after all. There was no reason to be low in spirits. And, in another two weeks, he would be back home at Godric's Hollow with his godfather and Remus. That was more than enough reason to push aside the feelings of longing that threatened to overwhelm him every time he glanced at the blue sky-remarkably like Draco's eyes, and just as endless. One could spend eternity staring into the blue void and never be satisfied.

It was, Harry noted, the first time he had ever looked forward to the overcast winter skies. 

Upon his arrival, the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Weasley greeted him with enthusiasm. Hermione frowned at Harry's vague statements about the weeks he had spent with Draco, but Ron seemed satisfied, grinning cheerfully when Harry mentioned that he had beaten Malfoy at billiards. Of course, Harry neglected to mention the prize he had won. 

In the next few weeks, the Weasley household was relatively quiet. Harry and Ron spent their days riding and shooting while the ladies stayed at home, doing whatever it was that ladies did in the afternoon. Sometimes the strains of the pianoforte could be heard coming from the parlor as the men returned for supper. More often than not it was Mozart that Miss Weasley selected, which always made Harry flush and remember the losing battle he fought with his memory regarding Draco Malfoy. 

In early September, a rider arrived with the news of Percy Weasley's promotion, and the entire redheaded clan decided to celebrate with an outdoor picnic the following weekend. The twins and Charlie arrived with the Regiment in high spirits. The eldest Weasley brother, Bill, was detained abroad, but the mysterious Miss Clearwater appeared with her family, and Harry was not surprised to hear talk of marriage. Percy's promotion guaranteed him an income capable of providing a comfortable living for the happy couple, in London proper no less. 

After the new Mrs. Weasley had taken the future Mrs. Weasley aside for private conversation, Harry and Ron took a long walk around the perimeter. It felt good to be with Ron again, as comfortable friends, and although marriage had changed his friend, as Harry had expected, he was happy to see that there was no awkwardness between them. He was relieved to not have to fend off more questions about his visit to Derbyshire. However, Ron's thoughts for once did not seem to tend towards the aristocratic blond. 

"Ginny wants to spend this coming winter with Charlie and the twins. Actually, I think she wants to spend time with a certain Mr. Creevey," he said casually, carefully watching Harry's reaction. Ron had never been subtle. 

Harry felt the familiar pangs of guilt that appeared whenever he remembered his rejection of Miss Weasley, but endeavored to keep his countenance neutral under Ron's scrutiny. "I see. Who's this Mr. Creevey?"

"Some officer. He sketches. Carries a little notebook and a pencil wherever he goes and makes little drawings. Bloody annoying if you ask me, but Ginny seems taken with him." His friend nodded his head towards Miss Weasley, who stood underneath a large oak tree surrounded by four redcoats. Harry was startled to see how flirtatious her smile was, and how often her eyes seemed to dart in his direction. 

Harry smiled with relief. "That's good, then. That she likes his attentions I mean."

Ron made a face and elbowed Harry. "If you ask me, she's just trying to attract your attention. Her flirtations could quickly get out of control, though, if you don't put your foot down, Harry. If she's going to be your wife you want her to be respectable, don't you?"

Harry swallowed, and cleared his throat. He had expected to have to discuss the matter of the wife eventually. He purposefully turned his back to Ginny to give his friend his full attention. "It's really none of my business who Ginny wants to flirt with, Ron. And ah, regarding her being my wife . . . I've already informed Miss Weasley that I have no inclination to marry."

Ron looked stunned, his jaw working silently. When at last he did speak, it was an angry whisper. "But Harry . . . everyone thinks you're to marry Ginny."

The moment stretched between them. Harry looked at his hands. He remembered the way Draco had talked to him about Ginny, and how she desperately needed to be herself and not just the role assigned to her. But how could he explain all that to Ron?

"I'm very fond of Ginny, Ron," Harry started, raising his eyes to meet Ron's. "But I can't help feeling she would be happier marrying someone else," he finished lamely. Not to mention that ever since Draco Malfoy had caught his attention at Hogwarts he hadn't been able to think of a female, or another male, for that matter. 

"You think that Ginny wouldn't want to marry you? Have you completely lost your senses?" 

Harry took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. "Ron, you're my oldest friend in the world. I couldn't marry Ginny. I'm not worthy of her."

"Now I know you've lost your senses. You're the only person good enough for her." 

"I'm not. I can't give-I mean-Ron, this is very difficult." Harry's voice shook with emotion and he glanced over his shoulder at Ginny and the rest of the family before taking Ron's arm and leading him away from the crowd. "Please listen to me, Ron. I cannot marry Ginny."

Ron's tone became even more heated. "Explain quickly before I reconsider our friendship."

Ron might as well have punched him. The air went out of Harry's lungs and he blanched, his voice becoming high with desperation. "Look at how happy she is with Mr. Creevey. That alone should prove that her attachment to me was as forced as mine to her."

"Do you honestly want Ginny to marry an officer? Not even a gentleman. What sort of future would she have?" Ron was livid, his face red with emotion.

Harry glowered as he stepped closer to the taller redhead. "Is that all I am to you? A gentleman who can marry your sister? Don't you have any concern for my feelings in the matter?"

Ron glared down at Harry. "You have to marry sometime, Harry. And why not Ginny?"

Harry's expression became torn as Ron asked the question that he wasn't ready to answer. Married? How could he possibly get married now that he had . . . experienced such things with Malfoy. "Don't ask this of me, Ron. I'm warning you. I cannot marry Ginny."

Ron glared down at Harry, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Why? Isn't she good enough for you? Or do you have some other attachment that you've kept from us?"

Harry stared back coolly, aghast at the reaction his best friend was having to the news but bearing the brunt of the attack dutifully. It was nothing more than he deserved, after all. "It's not about Ginny. There isn't any girl I want to marry."

Something stopped the redhead in his anger, and Harry knew from experience that Ron had reached his breaking point. The deathly quiet was far more dangerous than the blustery anger. "Why do I have the feeling that Malfoy is to blame for this?"

Harry took a deep breath, refusing to rise to the bait. "Leave him out of this, Ron."

"So he is involved. You had never had these thoughts before you met that man. He's put ideas in your head about marrying someone in his own circles. A Weasley isn't good enough for you anymore," Ron hissed. His fists were clenched and he raised one in threat.

Harry caught Ron's hand, his eyes a brilliant green that seemed to dazzle Ron even as he struggled against his friend's grasp. "Stop it, Ron. This has nothing to do with your family's estate," Harry spoke, his voice choked with suppressed emotion.

Ron's chest heaved as he took deep breaths, the anger changing into disbelief. "It's true, then. You do think you can do better than Ginny. I cannot believe what I'm hearing."

Harry released Ron's hand and took a step back, keeping his eyes focused on his best friend's face. "Nor can I. Now I beg of you to calm yourself. Ron, please."

Harry would never forget the look in Ron's eyes-betrayal and jealousy struggled simultaneously with resentment and pride. His friend swallowed, making sure his voice was controlled before he spoke, his voice trembling. "Harry, tell me, please, if my friendship has meant anything to you. Why is his influence so much more important than mine? You've known him such a short time."

Harry looked away, cheeks coloring with something other than anger. "I can't explain it, Ron. Don't ask me this again, please."

Harry's eyes examined the ground beneath their feet, and the dead, dry grass baked golden by the summer heat. He did not see the immense hurt in Ron's eyes, but he could hear it in his voice. "Don't worry, Harry," Ron spat. "I won't ask anything of you again. Except for you to leave the Burrow as soon as it is convenient for you to do so."

Harry nodded, his fists clenched with suppressed temper. Regardless of his feelings, he was the one in the wrong. "I'll leave directly," he said quietly, and walked towards the house. 

~_~

After informing the elder Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that news from town had reminded Harry of his long overdue responsibilities, Harry went to the stables. Finding the Weasleys' elderly servant, Errol, he informed the kindly old man that he would be leaving tomorrow for the North. After making his excuses to Charlie and congratulating Percy on his upcoming nuptials, Harry returned to his room and started packing. It was unfortunate that his sudden departure from The Burrow would mean that he did not have time to write and inform Sirius and Remus of his imminent arrival. Although he regretted leaving The Burrow in anger, he was looking forward to seeing his godfather and his companion again. Draco's enlightening perspective on his godfather's choices led Harry to believe that his godfather could be a source of aid not only in coming to terms with his feelings, but also how to deal with these feelings in polite and intimate company. He could be perfectly honest with Sirius and Remus regarding his relationship with Draco. However, how best to approach them was a source of contention. 

A door opening caused Harry to look up from his trunk. Hermione appeared in the doorway holding a small letter and wearing an apologetic expression.

"My apologies, Mr. Potter. This letter came for you this morning. With all the excitement I did not remember to deliver it before now." She held it out for him, still regarding him carefully. Harry stood hastily and reached out for the letter, opening it quickly. 

He recognized the hand immediately. His heart beat rapidly as he all too well remembered the last time the former Miss Granger had given him a letter from this person. 

Dear Harry,

I apologize for the presumption of writing you so soon after your departure, and at The Burrow of all places. My father has lately returned from business abroad and announced, in the usual Malfoy Manner, that we are to go to Town for the Season. To my Mother's utter Disappointment, Miss Parkinson will not accompany us due to Familial Obligations-her own, for once. 

I have enclosed directions to our London address in the hope that when you return North to that Godforsaken Hollow you will be Desperate enough for company to write to me. To further entice you, I've ordered the newest translation of Ovid's Erotique Poems, knowing how well you enjoy the Latin Poets, which I hope to interpret for you at length. I will prove to you, never doubt, exactly how Earthly your Spiritual Latin Poets are, just as I proved to you the Sensual Nature of the esteemed Mr. Donne. I remember precisely how Loudly and Enthusiastically you voiced your Agreement by the end of our Discussion. Do you?

I am, Yours etc.

Draco Malfoy

Post Scriptum: Tell Hermione what you will, but if she delivers this letter as I foresee, she will not be satisfied until she knows the contents. 

Harry glanced up from the parchment to meet the unabashedly direct stare, knowing full well that his cheeks were burning from Draco's words of encouragement.  
  
"May I inquire as to the nature of your letter, Mr. Potter?" Hermione said, her cordiality a thin veneer upon her curiosity. 

Harry could not meet her eyes, opting instead to fold and refold the papers, focusing on the words written in Draco's hand. "A personal nature, Mrs. Weasley," he said, his voice cracking like a schoolboy's. He cleared his throat and continued. "And I would prefer to keep it that way, Ron's feelings towards Mr. Malfoy being what they are." He continued studying the parchment, his eyes widening as a sketch on the back of one sheet caught his eye. 

Merciful Heavens. He squinted, barely registering that Hermione was asking him a question. Yes, that was definitely an ink sketch of two men coupling on a sofa. A specific sofa. And, if he dared remember, a specific incident. 

"Mr. Potter?"

He gasped and looked up. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Weasley."

Hermione regarded him, her brown eyes examining his face. "He's an amazing gentleman, Mr. Potter, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is." And brazen, to write such a provocative letter. And to include a lewd drawing on the back of one sheet. Had he no shame? He hastily folded the paper, praying that Mrs. Weasley was too occupied with her questions to have noticed his blush, or the reason for it.

Hermione did not seem to notice his discomfiture. Or if she did, she ignored it, as she continued in her questioning. "Did you enjoy Malfoy Manor?"

"Very much. It is a lovely estate." Not half so lovely as the man who stood to inherit it, however. 

"Yes. With lovely grounds. Did you perhaps get a chance to swim in the lake?" She was teasing him now. There was a definite sparkle of mischief in her brown eyes. 

Memories of the first time Draco kissed him came flooding back. "Erm, yes, I did. On occasion."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Potter. Pray, when you write a reply to Mr. Malfoy, include my best wishes for his health and happiness." She turned then, as if unsure of her position or her old boldness, and clasped Harry's hand, squeezing it tight. "I wish you the same as well, Mr. Potter," she said earnestly. "Do take care of him, please," she pleaded, her brown eyes searching Harry's own for reassurance.

Harry nodded, the burden of Ron's reaction somewhat lightened by his wife's support. "Yes, of course, Mrs. Weasley."

She left him then, smiling sweetly, and Harry was glad for the time alone.

~_~

Taking his leave less than a month after his return was uncomfortable. Ron refused to see him off. Mrs. Weasley wished him a good voyage on behalf of herself and her stubborn husband. Harry was grateful for her easy smile the apparent understanding about Ron, and Draco. Miss Weasley made an appearance, and thus the infamous Mr. Creevey came also. He shook Harry's hand enthusiastically and his eyes were riveted to Harry's scar. When he proclaimed that he would love to draw Harry for his collection, Harry blushed and muttered a polite demurral.

His paid his compliments to the elder Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and stepped into the carriage, weary of travel and company and glad for once to be going home. 

His true home. 


	12. Scotch Rhapsody

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling. 

Author Notes: Yes, two at once. These chapters are very separate in my mind, despite the fact that they're being posted at once. Thanks to, as always, my betas. Heidi, EQ, and LM. Three women I respect and love dearly and who never give up on me, or my fic, even if it's three months between chapters. 

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Façade  
Chapter Twelve  
Scotch Rhapsody  
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As the carriage rolled and bumped and jostled its way north, Harry pondered that there really was no landscape more beautiful than that of Godric's Hollow. 

When the familiar peaks and hills came into view, Harry leaned out the window, moving to the edge of his seat with childlike eagerness. This was home, and he had been too far away from it for far too long. Errol pulled up the drive and Harry stepped out of the carriage, the feel of familiar soil beneath his feet making him smile broadly. One of his servants arrived breathless, alerted by the sound of a carriage, and Harry directed him to help Errol down from the driver's seat and invite him to sup with the rest of the staff that night. 

"Harry!" 

He turned around, his smile widening as he saw Sirius coming from the doorway towards him. He opened his arms and crushed his slighter godfather in a tight embrace. The emotional strain of his time away from his home caught up with him quickly, and he reveled in the security of being somewhere he belonged, with people who cared for him. Finally releasing the other man he couldn't keep the smile from his face. 

"It's so good to see you, Sirius," Harry confessed. The homecoming was a joyous occasion, but it could not erase the previous weeks' lines of strain around Harry's mouth.

"And you too-but aren't you early? We did not expect you back for another two weeks at least." Sirius smiled fondly at Harry and ruffled his godson's hair. His own jet black hair-the only trait shared by godson and godfather-was pulled back in a neat queue. His clothing, while finely made, was also out of current fashion, but then, Sirius did not seem to care what was in fashion. 

"I know. I left the Burrow in a bit of a hurry." The strained timbre was not lost on the man Harry considered to be his closest family. 

"Problems?" he asked, arching a black brow. At Harry's miserable look he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder with a sympathetic smile. "Come inside, then. It's nearly time for supper." 

Inside the large house that, even at only half the size of Malfoy Manor, was still enormous, Remus was seated in the back sitting room. With his graying hair pulled back in an unfashionable ponytail like Sirius', and with a sifter of brandy in his hand and a large leather volume on his lap, he looked every inch the man of gentle breeding Harry knew him to be. As Sirius and Harry entered, he looked up and immediately smiled. "Hello, Harry. Welcome home."

Harry smiled and as Remus set the volume aside, stood, embraced him with as much familial love as he had embraced Sirius. Remus did not seem surprised to see Harry as Sirius had been, but then, it took quite a lot to shock the mild mannered gentleman.

"Harry's left the Burrow in a bit of hurry, he said," Sirius related in a conspiratorial whisper, giving the other gentleman a significant glance. 

"Oh, dear. Come and sit, Harry. Would you like some brandy? Wine?" Remus sat back down and watched the younger man with concern. 

Harry attempted a smile and sat down on the sofa, rolling his aching shoulders as he let a bone deep yawn escape him. "No thank you, Remus. It's nothing, really."

"You left the Burrow over nothing? I find that hard to believe," Sirius said quietly. His blue eyes examined Harry for signs that would betray the reasons for his godson's sudden return. 

All at once Harry felt the enormity of what had taken place while he was away and the heavy burden of everything he would have to explain. Tired from traveling, he did not feel up to sharing every event immediately. "Don't let's speak of it now. I feel a little road weary. I'm sure I'll feel better after a bath," he said.

Sirius and Remus exchanged another look. After a moment, Sirius nodded. "Of course. I'll ask Mrs. Figg to prepare a bath. In the meantime, just rest up, Harry. It's wonderful to see you again."

"Thank you, Sirius." Harry stood and walked towards the door. When he got to the doorway, he placed his hand on the wood and turned his head to look over his shoulder. He smiled warmly at his two friends. "It's good to be here. I hadn't realized how much I had missed this place."

Sirius smiled in return. "Welcome home, Master Potter."

~_~

Harry did feel better after a long bath, having rinsed away the dirt and grime from the road, as well as soaking his sore muscles. Toweling off and dressing casually, he decided to forego his waistcoat and jacket in favor of shirtsleeves. Skin still flushed from the hot bath, he traveled downstairs to find Sirius and Remus involved in a whispered discussion, their faces close to each other in the evening candlelight. There was a possessive gleam in Sirius' eyes as he spoke to the other gentleman, and Remus responded with a smile much warmer than that of a friend. The scene was so familiar to Harry from his time with Draco that he felt incredibly awkward. He missed that intimacy that he had experienced with Draco: feeling as if there was no world outside of each other's eyes. 

"Am I . . . interrupting?" Harry said shyly.

Sirius turned his gaze and sat back casually, making sure there was a discreet distance between himself and Remus. "Of course not, Harry. This is your home after all."

Draco's enlightening remarks about Sirius' and Remus' relationship seemed so obvious now that he saw them for himself, and now that he knew from even his limited experience the boundaries of friendship and male intimacy in society. Hadn't he and Draco used those same tricks on Lady Narcissa? He gave Sirius a sidelong glance and moved to sit in the wing chair nearest the fire. "And yours and Remus' as well. Your intimacy is such that you might as well share beds."

The remark had its intended effect. Remus coughed politely and exchanged looks with Sirius, who tried to cover his flustered response. 

"I've always been grateful for Remus' company here with me," Sirius said slowly, taking a long drink of his after dinner cordial. 

"I'm sure you have." Harry smiled again and then turned his face towards the fire. He hovered on the edge of confession, brushing the damp tendrils of hair from his face in contemplation. When he turned towards them again, his voice had taken a more serious tone. "Is it difficult, Sirius?"

The older gentleman tensed visibly, his voice falsely innocent. "What do you mean, Harry?"

"Never marrying." Harry drew a deep breath before the words began pouring out in a steady stream, almost out of his control. "Having to supply weak excuses about taste and time and desire to explain that while you understand the importance of marrying and that ladies are all very beautiful and wonderful . . . you would much rather keep company with another man?" He finished in a rush, his eyes bright with emotion, searching his godfather's face for a connection, and understanding. 

Remus carefully put his arm around Sirius, noting the shocked, but comprehending expression in his companion's eyes. "It can be difficult, Harry. But, if the man makes your senses swim, and your heart pound when you look at himif you want to shiver at the sound of his voice and cry when he touches you. Then, perhaps, it's worth the difficulty," Remus said sincerely, answering for the two of them. 

Harry was silent a long moment, absorbing this. Remus' confession acted as not only the voice of reason, but the voice of honesty. He had discovered his godfather's secret, but he had done it as an insider, looking for reassurance and advice. Harry looked up and smiled awkwardly at the two men. "Thanks."

"Oh, Harry," Sirius sighed, resting his face in his hands to rub his temples. "This comes as quite a surprise."

Remus stroked the other man's back, but kept his eyes on the young master. "Is that why you left the Burrow so early?"

Harry nodded miserably. "Yes."

"You and . . . Ron?" Remus said, glancing at Sirius in concern.

"Ron? Oh god. No, not Ron. Ron is very, very happily married," Harry said, laughing a bit. 

Sirius lifted his head "Then . . ." 

Harry sat quietly for a moment, and sighed, his voice barely audible. "I told Ron I couldn't marry Ginny. He didn't understand."

He brushed over the cruel insults they had thrown at one another to explain as simply as possible. "There's no excuse for my behavior. I led everyone to believe that I would marry Miss Weasley. I led Ginny to believe I would marry her. And my rejection, however kindly I attempted to make it, could not have been taken well." 

Remus moved to sit on the arm of Sirius' chair, resting his arm on his companion's shoulder. "Is there a reason for this rejection, now, at this time?"

Harry hesitated, and then nodded. "Yes."

"And his name is?" Sirius asked, giving his godson a sidelong glance.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. "Draco Malfoy."

"Who?" Sirius frowned and shifted in his chair. 

"The man I wrote you about. The man I met at Hogwarts. The friend of Miss Granger's-now Mrs. Weasley," Harry said quietly, amazed at how good it felt to talk about Draco to someone. 

"But . . . you wrote us that you hated him. Didn't he, Remus?" Sirius said, still puzzled.

Remus only smiled. "It seems that Harry's opinion of him has changed. Just as my opinion of you changed, all those years ago."

Sirius smiled back and Harry watched them, recognizing the twist in his gut as envy, not disgust. He blushed as he watched the two of them share a private smile. 

"How was it for you and Remus?" he blurted out. 

The two men were startled out of their reverie by Harry's question. Remus moved from the arm of the sofa to the sofa proper and Sirius placed his hand on his companion's thigh. "Well, we knew each other growing up. Went to school together, experimented together." Remus blushed at that remark and Sirius laughed, shrugging. "It was natural. I've always known."

"Well, it was natural for Sirius, perhaps. I however, was not so sure. It wasn't until much later that I realized that the feelings I had for Sirius weren't just a young man's infatuation." Remus clasped Sirius' hand at the other man's indignant snort. "You see, I came from a very traditional family, and there was quite a lot of pressure to marry a nice, traditional girl. At last, I realized that my own happiness meant more to me than family, or name. But it wasn't an easy decision to make. And it's not one that I recommend without thorough contemplation."

"I've always thought I wanted a family," Harry said, leaning his chin on his hand. "Because I never had one of my own, you see. But now, I've seen how some families are. And how they can cut off all contact with other people. Now that Ron has a wife, he'll have little need for a best friend. I don't know if I could ever separate myself from the people I care about."

Sirius smiled sympathetically. "There is a reason marriage is regarded as a trap by most gentlemen of our class, Harry. Remus and I enjoy a certain amount of freedom in our confirmed bachelor states. We can socialize freely, travel, and spend time with the important people in our lives, like you."

"Were we married," Sirius continued, "we would have familial responsibilities, and would likely not be able to see each other, much less spend time with you."

"Will you tell us about this Malfoy?" Remus asked shyly.

Harry's smile was small, but genuine as he collected his thoughts about the man who had changed his life so drastically in only a few months. "Well, Draco is very proud. The first time I saw him he danced but two dances, one with Miss Weasley and one with Miss Granger. His manners are very fastidious-as a result of his breeding, you see-and he is capable of being extremely unpleasant when he wishes. But beyond all that public façade, he has this way of making me feel like . . . I matter. Me. Not my family or my name. But me. The real me." 

Harry paused in his description, a little in awe of himself for speaking so freely and of Draco, for making him feel that way. He pictured the man in his mind and blushed. "He's absolutely breathtaking to look at, as well. Fine, silky blond hair. So blond it's almost white. Pale skin" he blushed in remembrance of Draco's other physical attributes and continued his catalogue of his lover's virtues. "And Draco is very educated, but considering his heritage it's not surprising. The Malfoys are landed gentry. Malfoy Manor is easily twice the size of Godric's Hollow and in a prime location."

"So let's see. Rich, attractive, learned, and he obviously has good taste, if he has chosen you," Sirius said. 

Harry blushed. "Yes, well. That part is a bit unbelievable."

"Why should it be unbelievable?" Remus asked. 

"Well, you know. I'm nothing special." Harry said, shaking his head with a sigh. "You cannot convince me that it's anything but fantastic that a beautiful aristocrat would want to be with me, when he obviously has his choice of any men or women he could possibly want."

"But he wants you," Sirius said.

"Yes, well" Harry trailed off.

Remus cleared his throat to tactfully change the subject, perhaps understanding Harry's doubt in Draco and himself. "When are you going to see him again?"

Harry smiled gratefully at Remus, but knew he was still flushed uncomfortably. Draco's attraction to him was something he was not ready to face yet. "I don't know. He's in London for the season. He gave me directions to write to him, but there's really no reason for me to go to London."

"Other than to meet with a certain gentleman," Remus suggested slyly.

"Remus!" The blush was back in full force. "Come, come, we're adults. We can take months of separation," Harry protested.

"Months? Has it been that long already?" Sirius asked.

"Well, not exactly. It's been twenty three days." Harry said defensively. 

"I remember when James would count the days away from Miss Evans," Remus said. "How remarkable that this trait should be hereditary for Potters in love." 

~_~

Harry wandered the grounds of Godric's Hollow one afternoon, almost a week after he had returned. He had just come from speaking with his steward, Dobby, about the rents from the tenants and the successful harvest they were having. Sirius had been only too happy to turn over a greater part of the overseeing of the estate to his godson. He felt important, needed, and completely at home. He also had the company of Sirius and Remus, who understood him better than he understood himself at times, and things to keep his mind busy. He should have been content. 

But he wasn't. 

Throughout every moment, waking or dreaming, Draco coursed through his being. Harry measured the days by how many hours he would last between thinking of the blond. Or thinking about not thinking about Draco. This kind of obsessive need, he concluded, could not be normal. It should not be possible for another person to enter his humors like a sickness from which he never quite recovered. Despite Sirius and Remus' obvious attachment to one another, he was not convinced that his feelings for Draco were natural. 

It was ridiculous how eagerly he waited for Draco's correspondence, and how when the lengthy letters arrived at irregular intervals, he would spend the rest of the day filled with relief and excitement. Draco's letters generally contained large amounts of dry humor and scathing observations about various society members, as well as sweet, even romantic confessions of a passionate nature. He had not thought Draco was an artist, but the provocative drawings that always accompanied the letters made Harry blush with their explicitness.

They did write about Ovid. And Marlowe, Burns, Milton, and Blake. Remus walked into the library one night to see Harry madly writing out theories and interpretations, surrounded by stacks of books and crumpled paper. Draco was fascinating intellectually, and despite the hours of research it took for him to create a letter he felt worthy of Draco's attention, Draco never dismissed his theories. He hadn't worked this hard on anything like this since university, but Harry never felt pressure to be right with Draco. Instead, the pressure he felt was to be able to express himself as clearly as possible to the man who meant everything to him.

As his weeks in the North stretched into months, Harry grew more restless. It had gotten to the point where he would use any excuse to get out of the manor and into the countryside, even venturing into the nearby villages for supplies that Dobby could have easily sent another servant to purchase. The honest truth was that Harry was running out of ways to distract himself. With the harvest completed, and winter looming on the horizon, there was little to keep him occupied. And if Harry was not occupied, he would think of dangerous things. Like Draco Malfoy, lounging half naked in bed as sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting his pale skin with splashes of color like liquid butter. 

There was no word from Ron, but Harry did not expect there to be. He was too busy thinking of ways to punish himself for hurting his best friend with his actions to think of how to apologize for them. Besides, it wasn't as if Ron was asking for an apology. Ron wanted Harry gone from his life, or so he had indicated, and Harry was determined to do his duty to his friend, no matter how painful it was to himself. In the same self sacrificing way, Harry was determined to not go to London to see Draco, although every day over the past month he had the same argument with himself between his desiring to go to London, and the emotional resistance to the idea, as there was no reason for the trip. Draco, after all, never indicated in his letters that he needed to see Harry, and certainly that meant his presence wasn't required. If he had been welcome at Draco's residence, the blond would have mentioned it, wouldn't he? Turning up in London without warning would not be a wise action.

There was absolutely no reason for him to go to London. None, whatsoever.

There was no occasion for such a journey either, until Sirius remarked casually one evening over dinner that the investments Harry's father had made before his death had matured, and with Harry's coming of age, needed to be either collected or reinvested in town.

"In town?" Harry repeated slowly, his pulse racing from just the thought of meeting Draco in London again. 

"Why, yes, Harry. Correspondence simply won't do for such a large transaction. There's no telling who could be corresponding," Sirius said sagely, and Remus nodded in agreement. 

"But, ah, how would me going to town be any different?" Harry hesitated. His reluctance puzzled him. Hadn't he been waiting for an excuse to go to London for the past month? Hadn't he desired Draco's company above all else? 

"Harry, I knew your father since we were children together. There's not a day that goes by that I cannot see some semblance of his behavior in you, whether it be a glance or a posture," he smiled at Harry and nodded confidently. "Trust me, Harry. They'll believe you are James' son. The letters of introduction and agent's words will likely not even be necessary."

It took more convincing, but Harry at last gave in. The relieved look in Sirius' face when he finally agreed did not escape his notice. Whatever it might mean, Harry knew that financial investments would not be his main concern in London. 


	13. Sir Beezelbub

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling.   


**Author Notes:**I'm very, very sorry for the long break. Lots of stuff have happened in my life (including graduating university) and I feel guilty about neglecting my poor little fanfic. For all future updates, see my livejournal at . The memories section also contains links to NC-17 Façade Universe ficlets that aren't allowed on Fanfiction.Net or FictionAlley.Org. I owe many, many thanks to the lovely ladies Lady Morsmordre, Heidi, Earthquake1906, and Cedar for this chapter.   


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Façade  
Chapter Thirteen  
Sir Beelzebub  
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Draco was bored. A half-dressed woman of the night rested in what she believed to be a seductive manner on his lap, and he had been playing cards for nearly four hours with little luck. He suffered such agony being the young, single heir to a rich fortune who also happened to be devastatingly handsome. His life in town was filled with routine, and Draco loathed routine. He awoke in the late morning and pored over Harry's letters, holding them to his face in a poor substitute for Harry's touch. He spent the afternoon either in the pleasant company of various connections, business or social, or attending upon his mother, if there was no escape available. The evenings were spent out, at balls, theatre, or various nightly entertainments such as the card game at hand.   


He had not gone back to Knockturn Alley, or encouraged any of the men and women, professional and amateur, who draped themselves upon Draco in the hope of intimacy. His vivid recollections of Harry were already fading, and the last thing he wanted was to replace the memory of making love with Harry with gross coupling with someone else.   


He spoke softly in the woman's ear. She made no effort to hide her disappointment before sliding off Draco's lap and onto the lap of one of the other young lords. Relieved, tired, and annoyed with his company as well as himself, he stood and straightened his clothing. If he had luck, he would be able to make it to the door before the other men around him roused themselves from their drunkenness.   


"Leaving so soon, Draco?" A silky voice purred near his ear.   


Draco sighed. Indeed, he had no luck tonight. Putting on an expression of bored indifference, he turned to meet the challenging green gaze of his companion. He was older than Draco by perhaps six or seven years, but one would hardly know it from looking at him. The man turned his face into Draco's neck, inhaling deeply and brushing his lips against the underside of Draco's chin with the permission of one who has been allowed to do much more than that in the past.   


Draco swallowed, closing his eyes to strengthen his resolve. When he spoke, his voice held no clue to his inner struggles. "Sorry, my dear friend, you know how it is. Can't afford to lose much more tonight," Draco said smoothly.   


An arm was slung around Draco's shoulders, the other man smiling a little too broadly to be sincere. "Just because you're finished losing does not mean that you must leave. Stay. Seek the company of a girl for the night. Or perhaps, someone else would be more to your taste?" An eyebrow arched meaningfully and Draco felt his insides twist with something he hoped was disgust. His polite smile remained firm only due to years of practice.   


"Alas, my mother expects me to be presentable tomorrow. She plans to trot out the goods for the ladies before they start the bidding. I think she's finally resigned herself to the fact that Miss Parkinson will never be a member of the family. Rather than freeing me from her designs, however, she seems to think it's open season." He extracted himself from the embrace and smiled charmingly in a way he knew the other man could not resist. "Another time, perhaps."   


"Of course, Malfoy, of course. Give my regards to your father. I'll be seeing him tomorrow regarding the investments he's chosen." The other man paused, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Draco.   


"My pleasure," Draco said hurriedly, exiting the dark club. He did not feel the green eyes that followed his progress, like a predator stalking its prey.   


~_~

  


Harry disliked London. The streets were too dirty, too crowded. He made his way down High Street, barely managing to avoid several puddles filled with he knew not what. Where was that damned clubhouse again? His arrival in London the previous day had been stressful, and Harry was annoyed with himself for the way his pulse thrummed every time he caught sight of a head of blond hair or slim shoulders in a dark blue overcoat. Not yet ready to face the task of his father's (now his) investments, he had decided to seek out some exercise to relieve his tension.   


At last he pulled up in front of a brick-front building and smiled. The Lion and Snake Club had been his home during his school years. It was his sanctuary, and the only place other than his home in Godric's Hollow where he felt he belonged. Here he could prove his worth based on his own physical skill, and not his background or family.   


He opened the door and ran into a firm body.   


"Beg your pardon. Completely my fault," he said, flustered, looking down at his boots.   


The other man laughed, a loud, lusty sound. "Not at all." The man squinted. "I say, is that you, Potter?"   


Harry looked up in surprise and then his face broke into a smile. "Hello, Wood."   


"Bloody good to see you," Oliver said, patting Harry's shoulder affectionately. "What brings you to our old stomping grounds?"   


"I'm actually here just to get some fencing practice in," Harry admitted.   


"Fencing, eh? Never liked that sport very much. Not enough contact, you see," Oliver grinned and Harry blushed, realizing the attraction he had once felt for the good looking man hadn't changed since boyhood.   


"It's good to see you, Wood."   


"And you as well. Come back in the spring and we'll play some cricket," Oliver said with a grin, shaking Harry's hand warmly.   


Harry nodded, promising to stay in contact, and then entered the clubhouse, inhaling deeply. He loved this place. The smells of leather, wood, and energy absorbed him, as well as taking him back to his past and the long hours he had spent here rather than studying in his room.   


He made his way to the changing room, hearing the shouts of various partners in sport, and changed his dress, putting on the white uniform. Picking up a light Italian foil, he confirmed that the button was firmly on the tip. Satisfied, he headed to the large workroom they used for fencing matches, carrying the light wire mesh mask with him. The clash of metal on metal caught his attention and he peered inside the room to see his favorite instructor in combat. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, known affectionately as Nearly Headless Nick, due to the gruesome scar he bore as souvenir from his famous match with the Bloody Baron of Eastborne, had taught Harry the basics of the sport, as well as encouraging Harry in his pursuit of other skills.   


Nick's opponent was dressed as Harry was, as well as being masked, and Harry concluded he must be another club member. His back was to Harry, but Harry still shamelessly admired the long limbs of other man, comparing them to his lover's. The masked man fought against Nick with an elegance that Harry envied. Every movement was controlled, and precise. Even when Nick threw in an unexpected thrust, the man blocked it effortlessly, as if he had known it would come.   


Harry watched from the doorway, in awe.   


At last the match ended with Nick conceding. "A hit, a hit. A very palpable hit, my lord." He spotted Harry in the doorway and grinned, waving his foil. "Harry! My dear pupil, it's been many months since you've sought to partner me."   


"Too many months, Master," Harry said, bowing his head to his old instructor. "I've been admiring your partner," he admitted.   


"And so you should," the masked man drawled, removing his mask as he turned to face Harry for the first time. His silvery blond hair was attractively mussed from being confined and then released by the wire mask, and his cheeks flushed as he looked Harry up and down. Any surprise he might have felt upon seeing Harry was carefully concealed behind an impenetrable blue stare.   


Harry found himself struck speechless. His senses overloaded completely, and he was reminded of how it felt to fall from a great height. The fall itself did not cause pain. During the fall you felt elated--your blood surged, pulsing rhythmically throughout your body, your chest felt tight from the inability to breathe, you knew the inevitable was coming, but somehow could not do more than wait for it to come. Helpless. Paralyzed. Seeing Draco Malfoy after three months was exactly like falling from a great height. Harry wondered when he would hit the ground.   


"Malfoy," he breathed at last.   


Their reunion was interrupted by Nick, who appeared not to notice that Harry had preempted his introduction. "Mr. Malfoy is an exceptional partner. You should try him out, Harry," he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder encouragingly.   


Draco smirked at Nick's comment, which made Harry feel bolder.   


"Perhaps I should," Harry replied slowly, and then moved his gaze from his mentor to his lover, asking a silent question.   


Draco said nothing, but held Harry's eyes with that same cool stare.   


Harry swallowed, and searched for some confidence. How would he react in a normal situation? He couldn't let Sir Nicolas become suspicious of his behavior. "Shall we find out if you are indeed my match, Malfoy?" he said with as much boyish arrogance as he could muster.   


"Are you sincere?" Draco asked. His voice was gentle, chiding, even though he returned Harry's unasked question with a slight smirk. Yes, let's play, Potter, Draco seemed to say. Let's find out how it's going to be for us. It was a surreal experience. The script for their public performance had private echoes. Harry was not going to back down now.   


"Completely and utterly," Harry replied.   


"I daresay you cannot be so sure as to make a wager on the outcome, now can you?" The heat was back in Draco's eyes, even though the question was spoken lightly, almost playfully. Hiding in plain sight, Draco had said. And here was the first attempt at it. But there was something else that caused shivers of desire to course through his body. Not since their first meeting had Harry considered Draco a rival, and that moment had been fleeting. To realize there was still something they could prove to one another made Harry's pulse race, reminding him of schoolboy cricket matches when it seemed life and death depended on the result.   


This new thrill of competitive intensity between them made Harry felt alive, and sensitive to every breath or movement. He looked Draco and then grinned slyly, attaching his foil to his wrist with a white scarf. "You know, gambling in excess is considered a vice. With your affinity for bets I would say you run the risk of eternal damnation."   


He watched Draco check to make sure his French foil was still firmly attached to his wrist. The blond gave him a smirk as he raised his foil, holding it to his face in salute. "Refusing my bet to save my soul. How thoughtful of you, Potter."   


Harry returned the salute, positioning himself across from Draco and waiting until they were out of Sir Nick's hearing before he replied. "Just trying to save your father's money, Malfoy."   


Draco glided forward, the tip brushing against Harry's shoulder even when he attempted to avoid the attack, provoking a grin from the other man. "You ought to try to save your pride, Potter. That's one."   


"Are you questioning my motives?" Harry asked incredulously, raising his foil again and attacking with a small but quick disengage.   


Draco blocked the attack easily with a counter parry. "You would truly sacrifice your soul for my benefit? How noble of you to appear cowardly for my sake."   


"I am nothing if not selfless," Harry said, mouth curled into a smile. He had missed more than the sight of his fair partner. The playful banter that had accompanied their every encounter stirred feelings under his skin, close to his heart. It was painful to be in such proximity, and yet unable to touch, to have Draco so near to him, after so many months of separation, and be a short measure away.   


They clashed again. The sequence paused momentarily as Harry was kept in opposition by Draco, who appeared almost bored. Harry took a step back to reconsider his strategy, when Draco spoke.   


"Of course. A true gentleman," Draco replied.   


Harry frowned, licking his lips thoughtfully before advancing, sliding the back edge against Draco's inner thigh tantalizingly, before striking a hit against Draco's navel.   


"Good form," Draco said, voice slightly breathless and strained to Harry's ears.   


"Likewise," Harry murmured.   


"The months have treated you well, I see," Draco said.   


Harry attacked again, aiming high at Draco's shoulder. Draco seemed to drop to the floor, his weapon arm extended. And oh, did Harry ever remember what Draco Malfoy looked like when he was on his knees, gazing up with flushed cheeks from beneath the fine fringe of blond hair. "You're too kind. I feel rather out of practice with this," Harry replied between shallow breaths.   


"A marvelous Passata Sotto, Mr. Malfoy!" shouted Sir Nicolas.   


When Harry scored another hit a few minutes later, Draco failing to bind his way out of the coule, Draco smiled wryly. "Could have fooled me, Potter. I think your skills are in good shape."   


They moved in close quarters again, neither one wanting to break the conversation. Foil tips were stopped millimeters from the other's skin, blocked at the last second. To a casual eye it would appear they were tiring. But Harry had never felt more awake. He realized, belatedly, that the lack of attention (intended and accidental) was due to arousal as desire began to cloud their judgment. He was not used to being this close to Draco, panting, flushed, and aroused, except in one other circumstance, and his body was reminding him of that, very painfully.   


"Some things," Draco said softly, as if he could reading Harry's thoughts by merely looking at him, "the body remembers, even if the mind does not."   


"What do you remember, Draco?" Harry dared to ask.   


Draco did not smile. "I remember wanting to fall inside your eyes and get lost in the never ending emerald sea. I remember the feeling, that the vision of you pressed against me, breathing heavily and glistening with sweat, induces in me," he whispered heatedly before breaking ground, stepping back a few paces.   


Harry blinked, momentarily mystified by the intensity in Draco's eyes. He faltered, and Draco pressed the advantage, scoring another hit on Harry's flank, lips curling into a smirk.   


"Match point!" Nick shouted cheerfully from the sidelines.   


In a moment, Harry understood. His features hardened. Draco had had the insufferable conceit to use Harry's reactions against him. Well, Harry decided, two could play at that game.   


"You know what I remember, Draco?" Harry said, presenting himself in invitation.   


He felt Draco eyeing him, no doubt weighing his options. Inevitably he answered the invitation, attacking where he judged to be Harry's most vulnerable area-which was precisely what Harry wanted.   


"I remember how you feel . . . from the inside," Harry said in a low voice. "I remember the small gasps you make when I press myself into you." Harry pressed closer, parrying Draco's moves as he waited for the opportunity to make the final hit. "I remember the way your tongue moves across your lips restlessly, calling to my own. I remember the way you look . . . eyes raised heavenward . . . when you . . ."   


Harry stopped, and watched as Draco's traveled downward and froze. The tip of Harry's foil was pressed against Draco's breastbone.   


"Good game, Harry," Draco said softly, before Sir Nicholas stepped forward. Harry took a step back, and untied his foil before extending his hand.   


"An amazingly effective feint, Mr. Potter. I feel quite honored to have witnessed such spectacular dueling this afternoon," the elder man said, as Harry and Draco shook hands.   


Harry smiled graciously before releasing Draco's hand. "Thank you, Sir Nick. I think, though, that I am more out of practice than I realized."   


Draco arched a brow in query, mouthing "Massage" over Sir Nick's shoulder, and Harry nodded.   


He stretched casually, wincing as a particular kink of his neck was pulled. "I think I'll visit the massage parlor."   


"Excellent idea, Potter." Draco said quickly, inclining his head towards Sir Nick politely before moving towards the door himself. "I think I'll join you."   


They walked slowly towards the changing room, foils by their sides, acutely aware of the proximity of the other, their bodies close enough to touch but not yet touching.   


"It's good to see you," Draco said softly.   


Harry closed his eyes, turning his face towards Draco's, his lips near enough to Draco's skin that Draco could feel each breath as Harry exhaled. "And you. I did not expect to see you."   


Draco fingered Harry's foil with an elegant gloved hand. "Nor I, you. I thought you would write to me, were you to come to London," he said, slightly reproachfully.   


Harry swallowed nervously, his breath tickling Draco's ear. "I was under the impression you did not care whether I came to London."   


They entered the changing room. Finding it deserted, Draco's hand slid from the foil to Harry's hip. He felt Harry shiver beneath his hand. "If you would come away with me, back to my home, I would be more than willing to show you exactly how wrong that impression is," Draco offered.   


Harry looked regretful. "I can't. I have to see my Father's investors this afternoon."   


"You're not going to collect on your victory? Seems unlike you, Harry, not to relish a triumph," Draco said, moving his hand from Harry's hip down his backside, grazing the top of his thigh slowly, his eyes shadowed by the fall of blond hair.   


Harry exhaled slowly, trying to find some semblance of control. "You are making it hard to resist. But in faith, I cannot. Much to my own regret."   


"Can I at least persuade you to come to my Mother's tonight? She's throwing a grand ball with plans to auction me off to some poor chit. How lucky it is that I actually have to consent to marry," Draco finished dryly.   


Harry smiled and leaned forward, unable to resist at least tasting the lips he had dreamed of the past few months. Draco responded hungrily, and to his great surprise, Harry yielded to his kiss, letting Draco plunder and claim as he saw fit. When it ended, Draco brushed the hair, damp from sweat, from Harry's face and studied him.   


It was Harry, but a different Harry. In the months of their separation, he had become more sure and more demanding, and yet more willing too. It make Draco ache that he could not become reacquainted with other parts of his lover to compare what else had changed.   


Harry smiled and stepped back, smiling almost coyly as he turned away and began undressing. "I still would like a massage before I go. Perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me?" He stood there, damp from exertion, wrapping a white towel around his hips, raising his eyes to Draco's challengingly.   


Draco's lips parted in surprise, but he quickly recovered, discarding his own whites eagerly. "I believe a private room would be more conducive to a . . . hard . . . rub down. Don't you?"   


Harry leered.   


~_~_~

  


_"Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,"_ the sign on the dusty, nondescript building proclaimed. Nothing else alluded to the fact that this was the place where his father's investments were handled.   


Harry straightened his shoulders, feeling the sore, abused muscles protest even that small movement. The massage with Draco earlier had resulted in more sore muscles, rather than less. A small smile played on his lips, remembering. And he was to see Draco tonight, at a ball. The second test of hiding in plain sight.   


Taking a deep breath, he entered the building. A small bell jingled above the entrance, signaling his arrival. Two men were deep in conversation in a small corner around a large writing desk. One had pale blond hair, and for a brief moment Harry thought that Draco had followed him here. However, this man's hair was tied back in an elegant knot, and his hair was much longer than Draco's. The man turned in his direction and Harry bit back a gasp of surprise. The man looked like Draco. Well, an older version of him. For a small moment, Harry was hit by the dizzy thought that this is what Draco would like when he got older. And damned if he wasn't every bit as handsome and attractive as Draco was now.   


The blond man rose and moved to speak with a short, squat man, with almost ratlike features, who had come to his side. His dark-haired companion, a younger gentleman with a bored, aloof expression that also struck Harry as extremely reminiscent of Draco, turned and saw him. Harry was surprised to see green eyes remarkably like his own staring back at him, with a burning intensity that Harry could feel even from this distance. Nervously, he turned away, looking for another clerk to help him.   


"I'm afraid that Mr. Wormtail is the only clerk here today," a voice said, and Harry turned back. The attractive, dark-haired man had spoken. "And he is currently engaged with my . . . friend. It could be hours before they finish," he continued, rising from his seat to walk where Harry stood.   


Harry fought the urge to retreat, offering a polite smile. "Oh, I see. Thank you. Perhaps I should make an appointment and come back at a later date." He turned away again, looking for a place to leave his card.   


"Or you could wait, and save me from an afternoon of boredom," the man said, now directly beside Harry. He waved a hand at the two in the corner. "I meant it when I said they could take hours. Prattling on about Lord knows what," the man grinned broadly. "I generally sit there bored out of my mind. And I would be doing so today, as well, had you not entered my life. May I be so bold as to invite you to share my tea?" The green eyes gave Harry a subtle once-over, and Harry was surprised to find himself flattered. Could he be mistaken, or was the man flirting with him?   


Harry smiled shyly in return. "Thank you. Tea would be lovely."   


The man radiated brilliance and charm. Harry took the opportunity, once he was seated across from him at a small tea table, to study him casually. Dark hair, almost as dark as his own. Judging by his appearance and clothing, he was a gentleman of some stature and rank. More than likely the stranger's rank was higher than his own, but not by so much that he would think himself condescending to speak to Harry. A few years older than Harry. Perhaps ten, if one was very, very generous, but filled with a spirit that seemed eternally youthful, and eternally wise, at the same time.   


The man poured for them both, and handed Harry the tea, which he accepted graciously.   


"Tell me about yourself," the man asked. "It's not every day that a man like you finds himself in this area of town, now is it?"   


"I could say the same thing about you," Harry said.   


"Oh, you flatter, to be sure." The green eyes sparkled with amusement, and something else. "Can I at least know the name of the man whose company is so delightful?"   


"Harry Potter. And the feeling is mutual," Harry said, blushing slightly despite himself. They shook hands, and Harry's touch lingered longer than was strictly polite. The man seemed appreciative of that fact, lowering his eyes and smiling.   


"A pleasure to meet you, Potter. And please, allow me to introduce myself." His companion set down his tea and looked up, holding Harry in his gaze. "My name is Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort."   



	14. FoxTrot

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The views and actions of the characters in this fanfic are not those of J.K Rowling.   


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Façade   
Chapter Fourteen   
Fox-Trot: 'Old Sir Faulk'   
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The hired carriage carried Harry slowly towards the London residence he would be calling home for the next month. His father's portfolio rested on the leather seat beside him for later review. The afternoon at Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs had certainly proved enlightening on a number of issues. Lord Voldemort was an extraordinary conversationalist. Their discussion had encompassed many topics, including their schooling, sport, hunting, and this season's production of "The Beggar's Opera."   


At last, the carriage pulled up in front of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The residence had been the home of Sirius' mother until her death. Now the family (Remus included) used it whenever they had business in town. A skeleton staff included the elderly butler, Kreacher, who was undoubtedly one of the more eccentric members of the household.   


"What brings the young master back to her home?" Kreacher asked, barring Harry's path.   


The "her" Kreacher referred to was the late Countess Black, Sirius's mother. Kreacher had been unable to cope with the fact of his mistress's death, and spoke of her as if she had never died. Harry had even caught Kreacher speaking to the large portrait of the woman in the main hallway. He harbored a deep suspicion that the only reason the old butler had not been turned out was due to Remus's charitable influence.   


"I'm here on business, Kreacher," Harry said, pushing his way inside with more force than he would have liked. "I'm not sure how long I'll be staying. If you would please inform Mrs. Whistledown that I should like a small supper prepared tonight, to be taken in my quarters. Regular meals will start tomorrow at the usual times."   


He looked around the entry hall, eyeing the portrait of the late Mrs. Black with a wary eye as he removed his coat. "And I'll be needing Fletcher's services this evening as valet. I'll be attending a ball at the Malfoys'."   


Kreacher snatched the coat from Harry's hands, his jaw wobbling with emotion. "The Malfoys? The young Master is going to be seeing her, isn't he?"   


Harry paused on the landing. "Seeing whom, Kreacher?"   


"The Lady Narcissa." Kreacher folded the coat over one arm and stroked it, not meeting Harry's eyes. "The Mistress who still lives."   


"Lady Narcissa, your mistress?" he repeated slowly.   


"Lady Narcissa is her niece. Cousin to the Master." Kreacher kept his head down, but Harry knew he scowled, as he always did when forced to mention Sirius.   


"Cousins? I had no idea their families were connected." Kreacher said nothing, so Harry regarded the old man for a moment before continuing up the stairs.   


His room did not appear to have been disturbed, or even cleaned, since he had last been to town eight months ago. Harry sneezed as he beat the dust away and cleared a place at the secretary to look over his father's portfolio. The task of cleaning the house would have to wait until tomorrow. Perhaps Mrs. Whistledown could arrange the hiring of a maid for the duration of his stay.   


Harry undressed down to his shirt and trousers. The portfolio was thick. His father had been investing in various markets for quite a long time. Godric's Hollow essentially generated enough to cover all expenses, but the income of three thousand a year came directly from these investments. Harry had known of them, but until he had come of age this past July, Sirius had managed them.   


He slouched in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but the words and figures blurred before his eyes. The hardness of the chair reminded his backside of his earlier reunion with Malfoy. Draco. He smiled at the memory, shifting his weight more comfortably. Their time apart only seemed to have heightened the passion that between them. At Malfoy Manor that passion had been considerable, almost overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to what he had felt this afternoon. Harry had been shocked at how familiar and yet foreign Draco's touch had felt, and at his own response to that touch.   


"You missed this, didn't you?" Draco had murmured into Harry's ear. Harry had been unable to verbalize his response.   


He had missed it, more than he would have thought possible. Draco's presence made Harry feel alive, to say nothing of how he felt when they embraced. Despite his unparalleled response to Draco, both his chance meeting with Wood at the club earlier, and his introduction to Lord Voldemort later that afternoon had left him feeling a similar pleasurable breathlessness, which puzzled him. He burned with the frustration to know if Wood and Lord Voldemort were exceptions to his normal desires, or an indication that he had changed, inexorably, in his feelings towards all members of his sex. His reaction to Wood was understandable-Harry knew he had felt drawn to the older man in his youth-but how could his immediate, almost instinctual attraction towards Lord Voldemort be explained? The older man was certainly charming, and exuded an air of power that was almost tangible. It was intimidating, yet exhilarating, to feel himself the focus of such a man, worthy of such intense scrutiny. His reaction to Lord Voldemort reminded Harry more of his first encounters with Malfoy than his relationship with Wood. Voldemort's presence seemed to engender the same thrill that he had felt when in Draco's company.   


What would it be like to feel Lord Voldemort's embrace? The thought came unbidden, and bothered Harry. He needed only to lean back in the wooden chair to know that he did not want to contemplate another lover when he had only just been reunited. Draco was the only one Harry could imagine being with, of this Harry was certain. To think of Lord Voldemort was distracting and served no purpose, Harry concluded and forced himself to focus on the papers in front of him, haunted by Tom Riddle's intense green gaze.   


~_~

  


"Mother, for the last time, I refuse to wear that waistcoat. That shade of green is positively vile," Draco said firmly, and not without a degree of petulance. His mother had been insufferable all afternoon, hovering, prodding, fussing over his clothes, his hair, his shoes, even his cravat. All he had wanted to do was languish in the memory of his afternoon with Harry, but her presence had made even that small luxury impossible.   


"Darling, you know it's the latest trend. I had it commissioned especially for tonight. And why must you insist on wearing that blue coat? It's nearly two seasons old." Lady Narcissa stood next to her son, waving the horrid waistcoat like a banner.   


"I like the blue coat," Draco muttered, sinking into a chair near the window.   


His mother drew herself up to her full height. Draco flinched, preparing himself for what he knew was coming. Lady Narcissa had a talent for making people feel smaller than herself, even though she barely reached his shoulder. "Draco Malfoy, you are five and twenty. Yet you dare to treat your own mother with such incivility?"   


Draco opened his mouth to protest, but she had not finished. "Ever since you brought that Potter as your guest you have been uncommonly headstrong, especially in regard to your future and your wife. Why the other day Mrs. Parkinson-"   


"That is quite enough, Mother," Draco said, slamming his fist against the windowsill. "My future, my wife…my future consists only of my wife according to you."   


Lady Narcissa interrupted his tirade, glaring down at him indignantly. "A wife is certainly an important aspect of your future, Draco. And it would behoove you to remember that."   


Draco would not be silenced. "If you do not cease your tactless attempts to see me married by throwing heiresses and their mamas at me I swear to tell them what I'm telling you now-I am only resolved to act in the manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my own happiness without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me as Mrs. Parkinson and the rest of the bloody ton."   


Lady Narcissa drew a choked breath, her shock and anger at his words causing her voice to shake. "Insufferable presumption! Your father is going to hear of this outrageous behavior and let me tell you, my son, that he will not be pleased." She threw the waistcoat down on his bed and glared furiously before she turned back to him.   


"I would not be surprised if he disinherited you altogether! You will marry, Draco Malfoy, or you dishonor the name you bear and all those who bear it with you. You would leave me, your own mother, to suffer the discomfort of knowing that one small accident and your father's death-not to mention your own-and I would be turned out! Homeless!" She walked to the door, closing it behind her loudly.   


Draco shook his hand, gingerly examining the knuckles. It had been satisfying to hit something in his anger, but he could already see the bruising that would follow. May she be damned. Her, and his father. And damn himself too. It was not his fault that he was the only heir to the Malfoy fortune, nor that if he died without an heir of his own the estate would be entailed away on some relative. All his life his parents had impressed the importance of marrying early to him. His father had married his mother when he was young, only twenty-six, and she had been just eighteen. Despite his mother's youth, Draco had been their only offspring. For as long as Draco could remember, his father had been engaged in gaining power and influence, in order to renegotiate the terms and conditions of the Malfoy estate. So far he had not been successful. While Lucius Malfoy was powerful and influential, the house of Malfoy was still bound to the rules of the estate.   


He had no doubt that his mother was correct in her assertion that if he did not marry within a prescribed amount of time, his father would disinherit him. If he were disinherited, the Malfoy fortune as well as the Malfoy estates would be entailed upon the nearest male relation. He had absolutely no idea who that would be. His father had no siblings, but his mother came from a large family. Doubtless one of them would become heir to it. If they were lucky, the relative would have a title and estates of his own, and allow his mother and father to keep residing at Malfoy Manor. And Draco would . . . Draco had no idea where he would go, should he be disinherited. He would be exiled from every polite society he had ever known. The stigma attached to his name would be known throughout civilized company. He would be exiled to Europe, or God forbid, the North country. He shuddered at the thought. The only other option was to marry and beget an heir. Harry would understand. He would have to.   


A knock on the door interrupted his reverie and he sighed. "Yes?"   


Draco's valet-McMillan by name-peeked around the door. "Sir?"   


"Ah, McMillan. Come in. I'll need a bath and shave this evening." Draco sighed, pushing his hair back from his eyes, and smiled bitterly. "I must look presentable to my future wife."   


~_~

  


Harry stood outside Malfoy's London residence, self-conscious in his finest evening wear. As he peered inside the candlelit windows he was reminded of the last ball he had attended so many months ago, at Hogwarts. He was late because Kreacher had not bothered to make arrangements for a carriage that evening, despite the fact that Harry had informed him of his plans to go out.   


The butler took Harry's hat and coat as he entered, and directed him to the main ballroom with an attitude that reminded Harry unpleasantly of Lady Narcissa herself. He made his way through the crowd of people as unobtrusively as possible. He finally caught sight of that recognizable blond hair out on the dance floor, holding the hand of a lovely young woman Harry had never seen before. She was very pretty, and smiled demurely up at Draco as he led her through the dance. Harry stopped, his breath caught. The pit of his stomach churned with an emotion he hadn't felt since Draco revealed his intentions towards Miss Weasley were nonexistent. Jealousy, and not of him. Of her.   


The rational part of his mind informed him that he was letting his sensibility overrule his sense. It was a ball. Of course Draco was going to dance. And furthermore, it was not in his nature to be uncivil to even the most unattractive of partners. He struggled to make his heart understand what his head knew to be rational. He had simply not been prepared for how the forced façade between them and society would make him feel. Once he became accustomed to seeing Draco with female partners he wouldn't feel this way. Truly. Harry forced his eyes away from the dancers and made his way around the room to the refreshments. Perhaps he would be able to speak with Draco when the dance ended.   


The lemonade was surprisingly refreshing. And he drank two glasses while fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes off Draco as he danced. He was wearing the same blue coat that he had worn at the Hogwarts ball, which brought a smile to Harry's lips. Draco knew how attractive he looked in blue. He certainly put the other men to shame as he moved effortlessly through the lines. Harry paused, reflecting on the virtues of the situation. He had seen Draco dance before, and danced with Draco himself, but he had never really been able to admire from a distance the grace with which Draco carried himself. The same innate grace could be found in his other pursuits, including fencing and lovemaking. He was simply beautiful to watch.   


When the dance ended, Draco bowed to his partner and walked away, seeming distracted.   


Harry made his way to Draco's side. "Malfoy," he murmured, feeling breathless just to be near his lover. "How are you this evening?" he asked politely.   


Draco smiled and turned, so that they walked beside one another. "You are a little more than fashionably late, you know. But for all that, I'm still very glad you could join us," he said casually.   


Harry felt his cheeks going red with embarrassment, envying his lover's control. "I did not mean to be rude. I-"   


"Think nothing of it," Draco said dismissively. "Come, I'll introduce you."   


He followed Draco to one corner of the room where a small group of men and women congregated. One of them, a foppish looking man, clapped Draco on the shoulder with familiarity.   


"Malfoy, you naughty boy. When were you going to tell us?" he said, in heavily accented English.   


"Do restrain yourself, Zabini, and allow me to introduce my friend." Draco changed the subject with a hasty glance towards Harry. "Harry Potter, from the North. Potter, allow me to introduce Monsignor Blaise Zabini, lately of Vienna as one might guess from his atrocious sense of style."   


The crowd around them tittered at Draco's joke as Harry shook Zabini's hand.   


"A pleasure," the Italian murmured, his eyes openly assessing Harry as he smiled lecherously.   


"Likewise, I'm sure," Harry replied. He did not like the way Zabini was looking at him and pulled his hand back as quickly as civility allowed.   


"And this is Crabbe, Goyle, Baddock and Miss Bulstrode and Miss Perks," Draco said, gesturing at each gentleman or lady in turn. Harry felt himself being scrutinized from his unfashionable spectacles down to his boots, scuffed with wear. The ladies were not the most beautiful in the room, but their status was obviously based upon their worth and not their appearance. After the group members seemingly summed Harry up as being no one of importance, they ignored him, turning their attention and the conversation to Malfoy.   


"Miss Parkinson was unable to attend tonight, Malfoy?" Baddock asked. His smirk seemed an imitation of Draco's, Harry thought, and not a very good imitation either.   


"To my utter despair." Draco grinned with the gentlemen of the group as the ladies giggled.   


"Dear Miss Parkinson has been so selfish to keep you all to herself for such a length of time, Mr. Malfoy," the blonde girl Draco had identified as Miss Perks said demurely as she sidled up to him. "You must allow us to welcome you back to society." She smiled suggestively, causing Harry to momentarily contemplate strangling her by her blonde curls, intricately arranged in the latest fashion.   


Draco smiled back. "Of course, my dear Miss Perks. However, I am engaged in the next with Miss Patil."   


"Which one?" Zabini asked. "They are twins, you know."   


"The elder. Miss Padma Patil, I believe, her sister is Miss Parvati Patil." Draco nodded towards the Indian group congregating in one corner of the room.   


"They're quite exotic, aren't they, Millicent? Indian princesses, the ton has hailed them as," Miss Perks mock whispered. "Princesses? Their father is a merchant!" Miss Perks affected a look of disdain. Harry decided then and there that she was absolutely intolerable. He glanced at Draco, hoping to see some similar look of disgust. His lover had a look of practiced boredom on his face. Was this the world Malfoy inhabited on a regular basis? The world he had grown up in? If so, his behavior during their first meetings at Hogwarts was easier to understand. One would need to be skilled in indifference to survive among these wolves.   


"And a very wealthy merchant, Miss Perks. You also seem to forget the fact that they are royalty, at least in their own country." Zabini cut in. Miss Perks glared heatedly at Zabini, who only smiled graciously and turned his attention to Draco. "Do you suppose the Patil heiresses have a brother?"   


"Why would he be interested in a brother?" Miss Bulstrode spoke for the first time, her tone sharp and knowing. "Not everyone's tastes run in your direction, Mr. Zabini." The group tittered again.   


Zabini, to Harry's surprise, only shrugged, and continued. "Our Malfoy will have his pick of brides this season. It is fortuitous that Incomparables like the Patil heiresses have chosen this year for their debut."   


Harry's eyes moved to Malfoy again. A bride? Surely he had misheard.   


"Rotten luck, that, Malfoy," Baddock said, patting him on the shoulder. "It's unfashionable to be married so young."   


Draco refused to meet Harry's eye, his gaze directed towards his mother and father on the opposite side of the room. "Yes," he said with an air of affected indifference, "it is."   


Harry needed to get Draco alone, as soon as possible. Only then would he obtain the truths he desperately wanted. Harry looked around, catching sight of an open terrace on the other side of the room. If he left, would Draco understand he was to follow? It was a chance he was willing to take. "Begging your pardon ladies, gentlemen, but I must take my leave," Harry announced, making a courtly bow before he turned his back on them.   


"How rude," he overheard Miss Perks say as he left. "Poor breeding, do you think? Or merely poor?" Laughter followed her remark.   


Harry pushed his way through the crowd, almost tripping over one young lady. "Excuse me, miss. I did not see you," he said in apology, helping the girl to her feet.   


"Thank you, Mister-" she smiled, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality. "Mr. Potter. How good it is to see you again." She stood up, straightening her gown-an unusual tangerine that made her seem as exotic as the Patil princesses.   


"Miss Lovegood? A pleasure to see you again." Miss Luna Lovegood was one of the oddest young ladies of Harry's acquaintance. Her mother had died when she was young, leaving her to be raised by her father, who ran a successful newspaper in town. As a result of her unorthodox lifestyle, she was thought to be rather peculiar. It seemed strange to run into her, literally, at the Malfoys' party, but he supposed she had accompanied her father. The Malfoys had enjoyed longstanding social success in part because of their attitudes towards the society papers.   


Harry's connection to Miss Lovegood was more tenuous. She and Miss Weasley had been friends in their youth, and Harry had been introduced to her (and forced to dance with her) at several country balls. He was surprised to see her in London and said as much.   


"Father could not bear to be parted from my company for any longer, I'm afraid," she explained. "It was unfortunate that I could not tarry longer with Miss Weasley in Bath, but it is the season, and I do love these balls." She smiled brightly, her eyes moving from Harry to the dance floor and back again.   


Harry smiled, but sighed inwardly. He did not feel like dancing but to refuse the hint was unconscionable. "It would be my pleasure to dance with you later this evening, Miss Lovegood. If I may have your card?"   


She held out her wrist, and Harry obediently scanned the list of dances. The waltz was listed and he looked up in surprise. "The waltz? I've yet to attend a ball where the waltz was listed."   


Miss Lovegood smiled. "Indeed. Most shocking. A girl needs her mother's permission to even engage in such a performance. Of course no one will question the waltz being danced here at the Malfoys' ball. They are a family in good standing, and more importantly, they are French."   


Harry had to stifle the urge to laugh, settling for an amused smile and looked back down at the card in his hand. "Do you need your father's permission to waltz, Miss Lovegood?"   


"I have it." She smiled again, and took her card back once Harry had written his name down. "I was sent for some lemonade. Would you excuse me, Mr. Potter?"   


Only too happy to be dismissed, he watched her leave and made his own way to an outdoor terrace. He stood next to the railing, feeling the cool stone beneath his fingertips and smelling the unperfumed fresh air of London. It had recently rained, to no one's surprise, and the ground was wet. His encounter with Miss Lovegood would have given Draco more than enough time to make his excuses to his companions and discreetly make his way to join him.   


"Potter?" a male voice said behind him.   


He turned to see Lord Voldemort there, looking resplendent in a dark green coat that brightened his eyes, making them seem luminescent even in the torchlight.   


"Lord Voldemort." He made the effort to smile, his disappointment at his companion's identity melting away as the smile was returned. "A pleasure to see you again so soon."   


"And you as well," Lord Voldemort said softly, and moved to stand beside Harry. "Forgive the observation, but you do not seem to be enjoying yourself this evening."   


Surprised at such a direct comment, Harry looked up, under Lord Voldemort's assessing gaze. Had Lord Voldemort been watching him all evening? "No, I...am only unused to such crowded events. I thought some fresh air might do me good."   


Lord Voldemort nodded, smiling pleasantly. "I understand, Harry. May I call you Harry?" He had moved closer, so their shoulders were nearly touching.   


"If you wish to, my lord," Harry replied.   


Lord Voldemort laughed, a throaty chuckle that made Harry shiver. "You must call me Tom."   


"Tom?"   


They were nearly the same height, Harry noticed, his eyes widening involuntarily at the realization. They had similar builds as well, though Lord Voldemort was perhaps a bit broader in the shoulders. And his eyes...it was as if they were his own, reflected back at him, the only barrier between their gaze was Harry's spectacles. It was as though he was looking at a more attractive and mature version of himself.   


"I saw that Draco introduced you to his acquaintances," Lord Voldemort said, and turned, his green eyes openly curious. "What did you think of them?"   


"It would be more accurate to ask what they thought of me. And the answer is obviously, very little," Harry said, looking down at his hands.   


"They are blind as well as boring."   


It was uttered with such sincerity that Harry felt himself blushing. Open admiration from someone like Lord Voldemort was not something he was used to. "I fear they could see things quite clearly."   


"The blush becomes you well, Harry." He lifted his hand to stroke Harry's cheek with gloved fingers. "It is quite endearing. I think I would relinquish my favorite horse to make you blush again."   


Harry could feel the blood rushing to his face. Lord Voldemort laughed. "It seems I do not have to, however. Has any one told you how beautiful you are like this?"   


Confusion swept over Harry at the change of topic. "Yes." Draco had. Often.   


"Allow me to say I have unparalled jealousy at whomever said it first. And who might have seen you so gloriously flushed all over." Lord Voldemort's hand was still on his cheek. Harry could feel the cool cloth against his hot skin.   


"Tom?" he asked, struggling to keep from being overwhelmed.   


"You are exquisite," Lord Voldemort said with a smile, turning to bring his face close to Harry's.   


He could feel Lord Voldemort's breath against his lips. It was like being entranced. A voice in his mind urged him to close the distance between them. He was acutely aware of his heartbeat, and the way Lord Voldemort's eyes suddenly seemed red, not green.   


The spell was broken by the first strains of the waltz, and Harry stepped back quickly, taking deep breaths. "I must go. I am engaged in the next," he said hastily.   


"Forgive me for detaining you, Harry." Lord Voldemort straightened, and smiled. His gloved hand now rested innocently on the stone banister.   


Harry tried to smile and arrange his composure as he returned to the ballroom. He caught sight of Miss Lovegood, who appeared distressed, then pleased when he claimed her hand and led her to the dance floor.   


As soon as he took her into his arms, his body was transported back to that night at Hogwarts so long ago.   


"What do you want?"Draco had said.   


He spun Miss Lovegood around the dance floor, catching sight of a blonde hair and blue coat only a few feet away.   


Draco, waltzing with Miss Perks.   


"Now, nice and slow. One, two, three..." Draco's hand rested on his hip, directing his body.   


"Mr. Potter? Are you a l right?"   


Harry forced himself to concentrate on his partner. "Beg your pardon, Miss Lovegood. Woolgathering."   


She smiled pleasantly. "I should say you were, sir, but I have the tendency to do it myself from time to time."   


A tentative smile, a rare display of insecurity from a usually confident Malfoy. "Miss Weasley is a lucky girl indeed."   


Not half so lucky as Miss Perks, Harry thought ruefully in answer. As the dance came to a close, he led Miss Lovegood to the side of the ballroom, excusing himself politely.   


He followed Draco and Miss Perks with his eyes as they made their way back to their corner of friends, smiling. Leaving suddenly seemed to be an excellent idea. As he turned away, making for the door, he was stopped by a hand on his arm.   


"Leaving so soon, Harry?" A silky voice purred near his ear.   


Harry looked up, into Lord Voldemort's eyes. "I beg you would excuse me, sir," he said softly.   


The other man smiled beguilingly. Harry tried to ignore Lord Voldemort's fingers, subtly tracing the inside of his arm. "I must beseech you to stay. You haven't begun to be introduced to proper society."   


Harry stuttered, trying to think of a suitable excuse. "I had not-that is to say-"   


"Have you been introduced to McNair or Lestrange?" Lord Voldemort said, interrupting smoothly. "The Minister himself is even here tonight, that is, if you are interested in being introduced."   


Interested in being introduced to the Minister? He had thought Draco's circle of friends were influential, but obviously, Lord Voldemort was connected to a very different group of powerful men. To snub him now would be insupportable. He had no choice but to nod his assent. Lord Voldemort's eyes gleamed, and he escorted Harry to another corner of the room, opposite Draco's.   


~_~

  


Harry was intimidated at first to be included in conversation with many of the ton's most influential members, but with Lord Voldemort as his patron, no one questioned his presence.   


Lord Voldemort's natural charm and his obvious influence among his peers impressed Harry. Their conversation was often interrupted by other guests of the Malfoys, as well as the Malfoys themselves. A subtle slight by Lord Voldemort and gentlemen scurried away, loath to earn Lord Voldemort's ill favor. Harry was amazed at how one could hold a tete a tete in the midst of a crowded ballroom. He would be a simpleton indeed to slight a man ten times his consequence.   


When he made his way to the terrace for a second time, this time in genuine need for fresh air, he was surprised to see Draco there.   


"Malfoy?" he asked.   


Draco turned around. There was a significant delay before he responded. "Harry."   


Harry drew closer. The torchlight made Malfoy's expression difficult to read from a distance. "I had hoped to speak with you tonight," he said reproachfully.   


"I know," Draco replied stiffly, turning his glance back out across the terrace. "I could not get away before now," he added hastily.   


Harry stopped, standing less than a foot away from Draco. His companion seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn.   


"I'm sure it was difficult for you to tear yourself from Miss Perks' side," Harry said, proud of the way he kept his voice neutral.   


"Is that what you think?" Draco asked, but his response was as carefully neutral as Harry's question had been, making it impossible for Harry to judge how his question had been interpreted.   


"I don't know what to think," Harry answered honestly, bravely closing the distance between the two of them to stand beside the blond. "But I had hoped you would inform me."   


Draco raised his eyes. In the torchlight they seemed devoid of any pigment, a flat gray. Even the blue of his jacket seemed dulled. When he spoke, it was deliberately. "My mother-this afternoon when I returned-I was given an ultimatum," a quickly drawn breath betrayed Draco's control, and the rest of his words came out in a rush. "Marry by the end of the season or face losing my inheritance."   


Harry said nothing.   


"Can you not see how helpless I am?" Draco asked after a moment's silence. The neutrality had disappeared, replaced by desperation. "How I have been tortured with this? I'm twenty-five years old and would have been quite content to be a bachelor until I was thirty, at least."  


And suddenly, it became clear. "You always planned to marry." Harry said, pronouncing it as an accusation.   


Draco looked at him in surprise. "Naturally I must marry. I'm the last of my line. If I do not, the estates, the money, everything will be entailed away onto an obscure relation."   


"You must..." Harry stopped. "Yes, naturally you must. How foolish you must think me, to have thought that what lies between us would equal that of my godfather and Remus."   


"Harry, a marriage is only a contract for a wife and heir. It is not a relationship of importance beyond that," Draco said, softening his tone. "There is no reason why we could not-"   


"There is a reason, Malfoy." He saw Draco flinch at the use of formality.   


"You would ask me to submit to a future disinherited?" Draco hissed. "Penniless? A complete outcast? No one would associate with me. Our association would only be more scandalous. Surely you can understand the impossibility of such a future."   


Their eyes met at last. Harry studied the face he knew so well, the beautiful sweep of blond hair that currently obscured Draco's eyes, the elegant cheekbones, tinged at the moment with emotion, the full lips that could be sensuous, or curl at the corners in a smirk or smile were now tightly pressed together. He recognized nothing of his lover's countenance in the man that stood before him.   


"The only impossibility, Draco," he began slowly, his voice carefully controlled, "is our future together."   


There was silence, the noises from the ball inside seeming obscenely loud. Draco opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a subtle throat clearing.   


Harry and Draco both turned towards the sound.   


"I hope I am not interrupting anything," Lord Voldemort said smoothly from the doorway.   


Harry recovered first. "Lord Voldemort. You were not interrupting anything. I was just taking my leave of my host."   


"I see." Lord Voldemort moved closer, eyes gleaming as he smiled. "Would you excuse us, Potter? I would also like to take leave of my host in private."   


Harry glanced at Draco, who wore an expression of cool indifference. "Of course. Good evening, Malfoy."   


Draco did not want Harry to leave, but there was little he could do to protest the situation. "Good evening, Potter. I will be in touch with you, about that matter we were discussing earlier," he said quietly.   


"I don't think there's anything left to discuss," Harry replied, and exited before Draco could respond.   


"Well done, Draco," Voldemort said, sounding amused.   


He turned to face Tom. "Your approval means so much to me, Tom," he said, not bothering to conceal his hostility.   


Tom only smiled. "Always so polite, Draco."   


"Not always."   


"He reminds me of you, you know," Tom said, and moved closer to Draco. "He's so polite and unsure of himself, and unable to conceal the moments when passion overtakes him. I can only imagine how he would respond in different circumstances."   


The thought of Tom with Harry in intimate circumstances made him ill. "Stay away from him," Draco said sharply.   


Tom laughed. "So protective, Draco. When clearly your association has ended."   


"It's a temporary break," Draco said haltingly.   


Tom seemed to consider this, then shook his head.   


"I think you underestimate him. I think he understands you perfectly. Whether he understands me is another issue entirely." He smiled again, sinisterly. "I think he'll enjoy Paris. France holds such pleasant memories for me."   


Memories of France were anything but pleasant for Draco. "What makes you think he'd agree to go anywhere with you? You've only just met him," he asked.   


"As luck may have it, tonight may have provided him with enough motivation to leave London, if only avoid a certain man's company," he said, pausing mid turn. "I should thank you, really. You've made my goal much easier to accomplish."   


"And how is that?" Draco asked. He didn't like the look in Tom's eyes.   


Tom smiled. "People in love are so easy to seduce, Draco. Especially when they feel... abandoned."   


~_~   


Author's Notes:   


My notes for this chapter were so extensive that I decided to add them at the end, rather than the beginning.   


This was a hard chapter to get out, for numerous reasons. And I have to thank Gryph and Cedar for their support in many ways, seen and unseen. Gryph has also done an absolutely magnificent fanart for me of the lake scene that I could not link to directly in the text, so I'm linking to it here: .   


I need to thank my betas. The lovely Heidi was incredibly helpful, as always, but especially in giving insight regarding patterns of speech, social class, and the Lady Narcissa. I had two snap betas this time around who answered a desperate plea on LJ for assistance, so I'd like to thank both vestige00 and revolutiongeek. And finally, I have to thank the incredibly Earthquake1906 for giving me the much needed push to post this chapter.   


Now . . . on to Paris. 


End file.
